


He Belongs to the World

by StarfireXL



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: M/M, Mama 'Merica, Mpreg, Some dark themes, States also kinda hate their father nations, States are my OCs, States meet their father nations, and a sorry attempt at humor, as historical as I could get it I suppose, but not graphic, but that changes!, hopefully, huuuuuuge bias towards America just so y'all know, i guess, if they don't screw up, just a lotta angst and fluff and feels, kinda historical, like pretty much all of them?, soooooo many America ships, states are the children of America and one other country
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-18
Updated: 2020-08-21
Packaged: 2021-02-08 08:43:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 33,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21473233
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/StarfireXL/pseuds/StarfireXL
Summary: It still haunted America. The moment his children had stopped believing.He knew it was foolish to think that that one moment had destroyed decades of sugar-sweet lies and joy-filled fantasies, elaborate excuses and cherished dreams.No, that one moment had simply been the last straw, the much-needed proof.Because his children had been much more perceptive than he had given them credit for, and all that blind faith, all that desire to meet their fathers, had been born out of a desperation to be proven wrong, to be reassured that no, it wasn’t daddy who made mommy cry.America had known that they could see his tears, but he hadn’t thought they could see what caused them.His children had been understanding, so understanding. All they had wanted was for him to not lie anymore, to not hide anymore, to not fill their heads with useless hopes anymore.And he promised. On one condition.
Relationships: America & Canada, America/China, America/England, America/France, America/Germany, America/Netherlands, America/Prussia, America/Russia, America/Spain, America/World, america/japan
Comments: 243
Kudos: 587





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Heyyyyy lovelies!! So, this is pretty much the result of reading WAY TOO MUCH hetalia fanfic, and also from absolutely adoring Alfred F. Jones to a very unhealthy degree... (as you can tell, there's probably some bias in this fic)
> 
> So this is my coping mechanism!
> 
> I love, love, love the idea of the states being America's kids and just America being the best Mama EVER (plus I ship him with practically everyone sooooo) Yeah, this is World x America!! 
> 
> So, I'm gonna try to stick with a timeline, but just a quick note that it might get a little messed up in later chapters (so sorry haha but I try). Some states are born wayyy before they actually join the union and some are born wayyy after. Their fathers will either be pretty obvious in that the US bought territory from another country (like Alaska), or they just have a lot of immigrants from a certain country (like Hawaii). I tried to add variety so that not every state had England, France or Spain as a father.
> 
> Anyway, I hope you enjoy this and don't be afraid to comment (feedback, or a fav line or something, anything works!) <3 <3 <3
> 
> States' Names mentioned-
> 
> Noah = Texas  
Lizzy (Elizabeth - named after the Queen of England) = Virginia  
Lilo (Liliʻuokalani - named after the last Hawaiian queen) = Hawaii  
Benjamin (named after Benjamin Franklin) = Massachusetts

**Prologue ~**

** _December 7, 2002_ **

America knew that she’d ask him some day.

They had all asked him eventually. All 48 of them.

_ Mama, when can I meet Papa? _

They had all asked him at different times, in different languages, with different words. All looking up at him with those wide, bright eyes. That pleading, insistent pout on their faces. That innocent, hopeful glow lighting up their cheeks.

_ Hey Ma, ain’t ya gonna tell me about my Pa? _

_ I would very much like it if I could meet Father. Just once, Mother. Please? _

_ Pouvez-vous me parler de papa, maman?* _

Every time, America had dreaded it. Every time, he had been prepared for it. Every time, he had been ready with reassuring stories and sweet words.

_ Your daddy is amazing, Noah. His smile could light up the world, no joke! He’s loud and funny and so passionate about things! And his music is so awesome… _

_ Aw, Lizzy, I’m sure you can go visit him someday. He’s just going through a tough time right now and he needs to be ultra-focused. But I’m sure he’ll be so excited to see you… _

_ Bien sûr chérie. De quoi commencer? Eh bien, ton père est gentil et sage et tout à fait charmeur. Et sa nourriture est à tomber par terre…* _

But not this time. This time, he was taken off guard. Because Hawaii was only six years-old, physically, and his states had always, _ always _ been at least ten when they asked him.

But then again, Hawaii was an anomaly, so really, he should have expected it. 

“Do you think he’ll go surfing with me?” Hawaii tilted her head, eyes sparkling with hopes and possibilities, “Or maybe he’ll watch ‘Lilo and Stitch’ with me? Everyone loves Disney!”

America simply hummed non-committedly, not really listening. At the moment, his daughter’s voice was nothing but a fading echo, background noise, as soft as the sound of distant waves crashing against the shore.

_ Maman, can you send my mud pie to Papa? I made it especially for him! Massachusetts told me Papa loves mud pies! _

_ Oh Lucy, I don’t think it would survive being sent to France. But it’s a shame, your daddy does love…mud pies…um, actually can you send Benjamin over? I need to talk to him… _

_ Mum, please tell Father that I wish him a splendid birthday! Oh, and can you give him this blanket? I knitted it myself! It has all the things you said Father simply adores. Rabbits, Tudor Roses, Robins- _

_ Oh yes, of course, darling! I-I’ll make sure he gets this. I know he’ll love it… _

_ Mamá, tía México me dijo que papá la lastimó a ella y a sus hermanos. ¿Es verdad mamá? ¿Les hizo daño?* _

_ N-No, cariño. No creo que haya sido él, probablemente alguien más. H-Hay muchas naciones europeas después de todo… * _

America had felt guilty afterwards. He _ always _ felt guilty. Even though he had tried to put as much honesty into those conversations as possible, he sometimes had to bend the truth a little, had to make things up, had to lie through his teeth so he wouldn’t hurt them, his precious children.

After all, how could he tell them the truth when their very existence was a lie, a secret? The biggest secret of the United States of America. Something he tried to believe wasn’t a lie because no one ever asked him. And if no one ever asked him, he couldn’t lie about anything…right?

“Mama?” Hawaii whispered, jolting America from his thoughts. He looked down at her, eyes softening as she clutched her Stitch plushie closer to her chest. America absentmindedly noted how it was old and worn and had some threads coming loose. He would have to replace it soon, if he could ever get Hawaii to give it up.

Her little face scrunched up in worry. “Mama, are you ok?”

“Y-Yeah,” America said, letting out a bright, easy laugh, “Just thinkin’ about some things, Lilo.”

Hawaii nodded, accepting the response. She waited patiently as America scrambled to remember what she had asked him, her big brown eyes blinking up at him serenely, and for a moment, America forgot where he was, who he was talking to. He saw another pair of soft brown eyes, older and calmer than Hawaii’s. 

He remembered those eyes when they had been filled with love, when America had held his hand and dreamt about all the things they would do together, all the places they would go, the things they would create.

And he remembered those eyes when they had been devoid of all feeling, two empty vacuums set into a bone white face, when America’s heart had shattered along with all the hopes, all the memories, all the dreams.

“Mama?”

Hawaii was too young to understand America’s distant gaze, too young to see through his mask. Not like the original thirteen, who could read America like a comic book. But that came from years upon years of being together, of watching as America smiled through pain and through heartbreak, of seeing their mother break down in the dead of night so no one would hear him cry.

But Hawaii, sweet, young Hawaii, was blissfully unaware. It was only her and her little brother Alaska. The last of the 50. The only ones who didn’t know who their fathers were. Didn’t know what their fathers _had_ _done_.

“Do you think he doesn’t like me?”

America snapped out of his daze again, blinking down at his daughter with wide, blue eyes. “Wh-What? What could possibly make you think that, sweetheart?”

Hawaii shuffled her feet, squeezing the plushie self-consciously. “Y-You weren’t saying anything…” She sniffled once, and it broke America’s heart, “I-I thought maybe you were trying not to hurt my f-feelings…”

Oh, if only she _ knew _.

“Oh God, I’m so sorry, _ Meli* _,” America crouched down to Hawaii’s level, reaching out to gently wipe her tears away, heart clenching painfully, “Mama just has a lot on his mind right now. I promise that your Papa loves you with all his heart. Ok, Lilo?”

Hawaii nodded, scrubbing at her face with that unique frustration that only little-girls-who-want-to-be-more-grown-up have.

“Th-Then when is he gonna come over?” Hawaii pouted, eyes slightly red rimmed, “Doesn’t he wanna come see me? Doesn’t he love you? If he comes over, we can be a big happy family! _ Ohana _ just like in the movie!”

America gave her a blinding smile. To anyone, it would look genuine. The same curve of his lips, the same crinkles next to his eyes, the same tilt to his head. But the original thirteen would be able to see the frayed edges, the bittersweet softness, the sliver of pain because America _ knew _.

The _ Ohana _ Hawaii was dreaming of wasn’t going to happen any time soon.

And then there was the idea of “Daddy coming home,” which added a whole other layer of complexity that made America’s head spin. Because there was no “Daddy.” It was more like… 

…Dadd_ ies _.

America tried to shove it all to the back of his mind as he tucked a strand of dark hair behind Hawaii’s ear, determined to just enjoy these few moments with his youngest daughter. But unwanted images kept resurfacing, dancing to the forefront of his brain and then spinning out of reach before he could catch them, before he could try to wipe them completely from his mind.

_ England stood on his porch, blond hair sprinkled with raindrops, green eyes luminous even in the black of night. His coat was soaked through in certain places and, for a moment, America thought the wet spots were blood stains and that they were on that battlefield again and that America would have to break both their hearts a second time. “Alfred…A-America I…please…please just once. Let me hold you just this once…” _

_ France pulled him closer as the sun peeked out over the horizon, reds and golds and pinks chasing out the deep violet of the night sky and gracing the world with their dazzling hues. His eyes were on America as he crooned softly in his ear, voice velvety and soft and promising so many things that America so desperately wanted. “All of this, it could be yours _ _ Amérique. Just think of it. You could extend beyond the horizon. I could help you…” _

_ Spain strummed his guitar lazily under a tree, legs tangled with America’s, the canopy of leaves making a pattern of light and shadow over his tanned skin. He flashed America a slow, sleepy smile and leaned over to press a kiss to his temple, long fingers curling around America’s waist, breath warm and soft against his cheek. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy, mi amor. You make me feel things I thought I wasn’t capable of anymore…” _

Prussia, Germany, Japan, Russia…the list went on. America had been with them all. Had _ belonged _ to them all. He had loved each and every one of them, for all their flaws and all their strengths. He had held them while they were crumbling, whispered sweet nothings to them while they were sleeping, laughed and loved and _ lived _ with his heart in their hands, hoping to God that they wouldn’t drop it. 

But they did. They all did, eventually. They had all left him sooner or later, some with apologetic good-byes, others without a trace. Like they had never even existed. Like _ their love _ had never even existed. Some came back, yes. Some came back many, _ many _ times. But then America would roll over and they would be gone again, evaporated like mist under the morning sun.

And none of them knew what they had left behind. _ Who _ they had left behind.

“I think I’ll give Papa some pink hibiscuses when he finally comes over,” Hawaii exclaimed, reaching up to touch the flower in her hair as she bounced up and down excitedly, “Do you think he likes pink? Hmmm...I could give him yellow if he likes it better-”

America kissed her nose, making her break off with a giggle. “No worries, Lilo. Your Papa loves pink! In fact…” America trailed off, smiling mischievously when Hawaii’s eyes lit up with anticipation, “Papa sent me something for you…”

“WHAT? HE DID?!” America’s eyes widened as he pursed his lips to hide a laugh. It constantly amazed him how loud she could be when she was excited.

_ She’s normally so quiet…just like her father. _

America shook his head, refusing to dwell on that thought. Instead, he focused on the way Hawaii reached up on her tippy toes to see what America had behind his back, the way her copper colored skin glowed with an inner light. America brought his hands forward and Hawaii gasped, Stitch slipping from her hands to land forgotten on the ground.

Japanese Cherry Blossoms. A whole bouquet of them. All fragile petals and delicate pinks and touches of white. Every petal curving just the slightest bit inward, blossoms bunched together like their own little families.

Hawaii took the flowers as if they were made of glass, eyes growing to twice their size. Carefully, she brushed her fingers against the dainty blooms and breathed out murmured words that America could barely hear.

“He sent these...for me?”

“Yes. I told him how you loved the color pink, and he told me he simply had to send them to you. They’re all over his nation, you know,” America replied smoothly. As if it wasn’t a lie. As if he hadn’t had these flowers secretly imported from their home country. As if Japan actually knew that Hawaii existed.

Hawaii’s lips trembled and America knew that she was going to cry. He swept her into his arms, kissing away the tears at the edges of her eyes.

“Forget him coming here,” Hawaii giggled softly, shakily, “I wanna go over there. I wanna see where these come from. I wanna see _ him _.” She turned to America, as if he had the power to make all her dreams come true. “Can I, Mama? Can I go visit him? Please? If he’s busy and can’t come here, then I’ll go over there and keep him company! It’ll be perfect!”

“O-Of course, sweetness, I’m sure he’d love to have you over there.”

America tried to ignore the way his heart twisted painfully when she let out a jubilant shout, burying her face into the cherry blossoms as if to memorize their scent. So she could find more of them when she went to her father’s country.

America smiled. It was just one more lie. One among a hundred thousand he had said over the years. He would figure it out somehow, he knew he would. He could delay and delay and delay that promise until one day there was no such thing as war and pain and secrets and then Hawaii could finally meet her father. And it wouldn’t matter that years ago, that same man had hurt her. Had hurt her so badly that her skin was forever marred with burn scars, her mind still plagued with nightmares of planes and sinking ships and people screaming as they were gunned down in the streets. It wouldn’t matter anymore.

Maybe then they could be a big happy family. Maybe then they could be an _ Ohana. _

✦ ✦ ✦

** _January 21, 2003_ **

America sighed as he closed the door to his house, raking a hand through his hair. He dropped his briefcase with a dull thud, pressing the heels of his hands into his eyes as if he could physically push back the tears. 

_ You’re disgusting! How can you even physically eat that shit? No wonder you’re so fat and stupid, all that grease probably destroyed your brain. That is if you had one in the first place… _

_ You’re a monster! People are dying and you’re just standing there! Aren’t you supposed to be the world superpower? Why aren’t you using all that money to help people instead of funneling it into your goddamn fast food chains and cartoon characters?! _

_ Some hero! Don’t you understand that no one wants you? No one wants your crappy “help,” all it does is mess everything up! Can’t you just leave other nations alone instead of meddling into everything like a daft child? _

America chuckled bitterly, leaning against the wall as he wrapped his arms around himself. They probably didn’t even realize how hypocritical they all were. _ Why aren’t you helping people? Why are you meddling so much? _ What did they want him to do? Tear himself in half and have one part of him help them and the other stay out of it? What did they _ want _ from him?

America didn’t know. Because they all looked at him as if he was the only nation in the world who interfered in other countries’ affairs. As if he was the only nation in the world who tried to avoid war. As if he was the only nation in the world who hurt people.

America knew that he’d caused pain. So much pain. To so many countries that it’s a wonder he hadn’t lost count. But he remembered. Despite their belief that he was nothing but a ditzy, arrogant young upstart, he remembered them all. He remembered all the nations he hurt, all the people he killed, all the mistakes he made. 

And they acted as if they didn’t remember theirs.

America clenched his jaw. He refused to cry. At least, not here, not in the hallway where his children might hear him. 

The bedroom then. He just had to stay strong until he reached his bedroom. If he could manage it through the entirety of that failure of a meeting, through the hissed insults and harsh glares and condescending voices, he could manage it for three more minutes.

He took a deep breath and stepped into the living room, his excuse to retire to bed early already on the tip of his tongue.

He exhaled in relief when he saw only Delaware, passed out cold on the couch, blond hair sticking up everywhere, long, lanky limbs splayed awkwardly over the cushions. America laughed as Delaware let out an obnoxiously loud snore. 

His oldest had always been the flighty type. Restless and impulsive and never liking to stay in one place for long. So America often found him like this. Curled up in random places in the house, coming and going as he pleased. He didn’t fault his son for it. In his family, freedom was more than a drug, it was who they were. And as long as Delaware didn’t hurt himself, America would always be supportive of that.

America lingered, abandoning his original plan of making a beeline for his bedroom. He strayed over to his son, carding a hand gently through his ruffled blond locks, smoothing down all the strands except for the little cowlick he inherited from his mother. 

Delaware stirred, mumbling something under his breath that America couldn’t quite catch. His heart swelled when Delaware nuzzled into his hand, the stubborn wrinkle between his brows smoothing until his face was completely relaxed. America’s breath hitched. In that moment, Delaware reminded him so much of England, it physically hurt. They both had that sweet, young look on their faces when they were asleep, the same faint smile tugging on their lips, the same slow, rhythmic breathing. America pulled away as tears pricked his eyes, slipping quietly up the three flights of stairs to his room, limbs heavy with a mixture of exhaustion and longing for something he couldn’t even name..

In the safety of his room, his facade came apart slowly. The first few times, it dropped immediately, just plummeted to the floor and broke into a million pieces that America had to gather and put back together again. But recently, he had to peel it off, like peeling off a layer of his own skin. Painful and slow and sometimes America thought that he was stuck like this. With that megawatt smile on his face and that carefree light in his eyes. 

He barely noticed his body sliding to the floor, back against the door. The first few tears started to trickle down his cheeks, burning a salty path down his face. His mind spun with hundreds of voices, spewing dark, toxic, hate-filled words.

_ You’re nothing. Worthless. All you can do is hurt and hurt and hurt and hurt until everything’s broken and you’re all that’s left… _

_ I know. _

_ They’re better off without you. The other nations, your states, the world. They’d all be happier if you just disappeared. Why can’t you just disappear and make all their lives easier? _

_ I wish I could. _

_ What’s wrong with you? Why can’t you do anything right? Why can’t you just stop? Stop living, stop breathing, stop being. Just erase yourself and be done with it! _

_ I don’t know how. _

There was a loud bang downstairs. America blinked, scrubbing at his eyes and wondering just how long he had been holed up in his room. Seconds? Minutes? Hours? 

There was another crash, he heard it, felt it making the wooden floor shudder underneath him. His ears pricked as he caught muffled voices, some sounds like a movie being played, and then screaming so loud he could hear them from three floors up. His children arguing over something.

America groaned.

_ I swear, if Massachusetts and New York are duking it out over baseball again, I’m disbanding the Yankees _ and _ the Red Sox. _

He figured he should intervene, before things got too violent. He didn’t want a repeat of last year. America shook his head in exasperated fondness as he made his way out of his room and down the stairs, taking care to wipe the tears from his eyes and school his features into a relaxed, easygoing grin.

He knew something was wrong the second he entered the living room. 

New York and Massachusetts weren’t facing off in the middle of the room, their usual supporters egging them on: California, New Jersey, and Pennsylvania with New York, and Rhode Island, New Hampshire and Vermont with Massachusetts. Connecticut caught in the middle trying to deescalate the situation while most of the other states looked on with amusement, annoyance, or disinterest. 

No, this was different. 

The States were gathered in a ring around the TV. Shoulders stiff, faces downcast, eerily silent. From what America could see, there were only about 40 or so in the room, mostly his older states. The younger ones must have gone to sleep.

They all turned to stare at him as he entered, and the looks in their eyes only deepened his foreboding.

Anger. Despair. Hurt. Betrayal. 

Alarm bells went off in America’s mind, his motherly instincts rising in his chest. Something had hurt them. His babies. His sweet, sweet babies. 

“What-”

“Why didn’t you tell us it had gotten this bad?”

America blinked, turning his head to face the speaker. 

New York stood in front of him, spiky blond hair ragged and mussed up as if he had been tearing his hair out, not perfectly coiffed like usual. His sleek, elegant black trench coat was abandoned on the floor in a heap of fabric, his shirt sleeves rolled up. His hands were clenched into fists by his side, but America could still see them trembling. His entire body was taut with barely suppressed rage and when America met his gaze, his heart skipped a beat when New York’s normally hazel green eyes flashed a murderous blood red. 

“I don’t…” America trailed off, glancing at the other States, noting the way they all reflected New York’s fury. “What’s wrong?”

_“Don’t act like it’s nothing!”_ America took a step back as New York roared, his entire body visibly trembling. _“I’ll kill them! I’ll kill them all!_ _I knew it was bad, hell, we _**_all_**_ knew it was bad, but I thought they had some shred of decency in their pathetic, goddamned selves!”_

America’s worry flared. New York was normally so composed. He was aware of his son’s occasional anger management issues, but it had never gotten this bad before… 

America finally noticed the traces of melted snow in New York’s hair, the camera sitting alone on the coffee table, the paused video on the TV.

_ Oh God… _

It’s him. America. At the world meeting. With half the other countries yelling at him for one reason or the other. Some glaring with evident hostility, a few carefully averting their gazes, others staring at him like he’s a worthless piece of trash.

America, with that _ oh so obviously _ fake grin on his face and the pain in his eyes and the hunched curve in his shoulders as if he’s trying to make himself small enough to just disappear.

And all his children could see it. 

“Where did you…” America could barely talk around the mounting horror, mouth completely dry, eyes wide and disbelieving and _ oh gods please let this be a nightmare, please tell me they didn’t see their fathers- _

“The World Meeting was in New York City,” Delaware said bitterly, his face contorted into a disgusted scowl, green eyes awake and glinting with cold fury, “New York said that it wasn’t fair that you never let us sit in on meetings so he decided to go to this one and record what happened…so we could all see.”

_ Please oh please oh please oh please… _

“We’re such idiots,” Virginia whispered, rubbing her forehead as if she could erase the image of America flinching away from England’s barbed insults, “We know this. We _ know _ what they do to you. What our...our _ fathers _ do to you…” She looked up at America with furious tears glimmering in her green eyes, and all he wanted to do was to take her into his arms and whisper stories about how her Daddy could make flowers bloom and books come to life. “And we still ask you to invite them into our _ home _ , the only place where you’re _ safe _from them...”

Her voice cracked and she turned away from England’s frozen face like she couldn’t bear to look at him anymore.

_ No, no, no, no… _

“Do they always treat you like this, Ma?” Texas murmured faintly, as quietly as America had ever heard him speak, “Has this happened before?” Texas turned his brown eyes on America and they were blank, so blank and America just couldn’t hold onto the mask anymore, it slipped from between his fingers and shattered as it hit the ground.

“Yes.”

There was complete and utter silence. 

Then, faster than America thought possible, Texas was on his feet, face as hard as stone. Almost magically, a rifle appeared in his hand and he stalked towards the door with such a dark expression on his face that America knew exactly what he planned on doing with those bullets.

“No!” America lunged for him, slipping passed him to block the door. His heart squeezed when Texas looked at him again with that gut wrenchingly neutral expression, like his son was long gone and there was some unfeeling demon possessing his body. 

Texas had always been such a passionate state, had always worn his heart on his sleeve, had always expressed his feelings so openly. But this…this scared America. He had never seen his son with that cold, emotionless look in his eyes.

“Ma, _ move _,” Texas growled, and insanely, America remembered a time when Texas had been much, much younger. When his face had still been round with baby fat and his smile had had a few missing teeth and he had worn an old, weather-beaten hat that America had said was from his father.

In those days, they used to sit under the night sky and dream together. And Texas would reach up a single chubby hand and make grasping motions at the stars.

_ I promise I’ll get you them stars someday, Ma! _

_ Aw Tex, that’s sweet, but it’s not possible. Don’t you think we’d have figured it out by now if it was? _

_ Well…Well I’ll make it possible! I swear to the Lord Mama, imma get on up into the sky and bring you back the moon and the stars and everything else! _

_ Well, be sure to leave some of ‘em for other folks, mkay? Maybe there’s some other strong little boys who wanna make their mamas proud of ‘em. Just like I know you will… _

America suddenly realized that Texas was nearly a head taller than him. 

His baby boy was all grown up.

“Please, Noah,” America whispered, leaning forward to bury his face into Texas’s chest, “Please don’t go.”

And that’s when he remembered another thing about Texas. 

He had never been able to say no to his Mama.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Heyyyy, I'm back! If you're wondering why this update came so soon, it's cuz I'm on break from school right now and this chapter was half written anyway, so all I needed to do was write the rest and edit and badda bing badda boom -- Chapter 2!
> 
> My Excuses for writing this chapter:
> 
> 1) The North American Twins OWN MY SOUL, so I just couldn't write a Hetalia fic without that relationship in it!!! It ended up soft and fluffy, but also angsty towards the end soooo have fun with that!!
> 
> 2) This chapter is my sorry attempt at putting a little humor into this fic, ya know before the soul-crushing angst and feels come into play in the later chapters. (It's mainly in the second part of the chapter)
> 
> 3) I needed to lay a foundation for some of the uncertainties America is going to be feeling regarding whether or not he should have kept the states a secret in the first place. I thought it would be weird if I just wrote that in without providing some backstory as to where those doubts originated from (this'll come into play next chapter mostly)
> 
> 4) Did I mention the North American Twins own my soul?
> 
> Sorry if the characters are a little OOC (I tried my best!! T-T)
> 
> As always enjoy!!! And please leave a comment, whether it's feedback or a favorite line or just your opinion on the chapter, I thrive off of them!!!! <3 <3 <3

**Flashback ~**

** _July 7, 1991 (1)_ **

_ America had never been particularly fond of winter. _

_ There were only a few things about it that he loved. The ever-present smell of hot chocolate and peppermint wafting in from the kitchen, the low crackle of the fireplace in the evenings, the glow of a Christmas tree when it was all decked out in lights and ornaments, the excuse to wrap himself in a mountain of blankets and never come out. But those were all things that could be transferred into another season. Without them, winter was simply a time of frostbite and dying flowers and dreary weather. Sure, the ice and snow and frost were always pretty to look at in pictures and holiday cards, but he could never tolerate being out and about in it for long. There was just something about the cold that seemed to drain him, making him tired and sleepy and irritable. _

_ But that was before. Before the war, before the politics, before the tension. _

_ Before Alaska. _

_ Winter was different now. It was colorful and vibrant and alive in a way America had never noticed before. The snow glimmered in a thousand shades of pearly white and translucent blue, the frost made impossibly intricate, swirling patterns across window panes and over branches, the cold stopped sapping him of energy and vitality. In fact, it did quite the opposite. Now, whenever he was in the cold, it was like his senses were awakened. He could feel the warm rush of blood in his veins, the steady beat of his heart in his chest, the tingling sensation of icy air in his lungs. _

_ He had never felt so alive. _

_ “Alfred?” _

_ America turned, glancing over his shoulder to see his brother standing on the porch behind him, wearing only an old hoodie and jeans. His face was scrunched up in a familiar expression of concern as he closed the front door and made his way to America’s side. _

_ America managed a faint smile, facing forward again, eyes locked onto the horizon. He watched as the last meager rays of winter sunlight clawed at a rapidly darkening sky, leaning closer to his brother’s warmth when he stopped beside him. _

_ “What are you doing out here?” Canada nudged him, violet eyes wide and worried, “You hate the cold. And you don’t even have a coat, you’re going to freeze!” _

_ America let out an amused huff of breath, not even bothering to respond. He closed his eyes as bursts of wind rolled over them, wave after wave of sharp, biting cold. It howled in his ears, tugged at his hair, nipped at his exposed skin until his cheeks and nose were a bright, cherry red. _

_ It was cold. So cold. Colder than anything he had ever felt before. Cold enough to be deadly. _

_ But, oh, he could feel so many things. _

_ “I’m pregnant.” _

_ Canada stiffened beside him, and if America hadn’t known any better, he would have assumed that the cold was getting to him. But his brother had always had a greater tolerance for lower temperatures, even now, even after so much had changed. _

_ “You...you’re…” Canada fumbled for words, “B-but who…?” _

_ America’s lips thinned as he wrapped his arms around himself. He didn’t know how to respond. How to tell Canada what he had done. _

_ “Who do you think?” _

_ Canada looked at him sharply, eyes incredulous, lips parted in disbelief, “You mean… _ ** _him_ ** _ ?” _

_ America bit the inside of his cheek, squeezing his eyes shut as if he could block everything out. Sometimes, if he focused hard enough, he could still feel the ghostly touch of hands sliding around his waist, the faintest impression of lips on his neck, the distant echo of low, sweet words whispered into his ear. _

_ Was it bad that he wanted to remember? _

_ “Yeah, him. Russia,” America dug his fingers into his own hips, hugging himself tighter, like he could make the longing go away if he convinced himself that it was in the past. That it had been a _ ** _mistake_ ** _ . That it had been one night, one single night, of relinquishing all control and forgetting his hatred and succumbing to weakness. _

_ But then again, one night was usually all it took. And now he found himself in the exact same position as all the times before and he just _ ** _had_ ** _ to ask himself again. _

_ Why couldn’t he ever lie to himself as well as he could lie to the others? _

_ One moment of weakness, one moment of love. Was there even a difference anymore? _

_ “So…” Canada started hesitantly, absorbing the information. He gestured vaguely at the expanse of ice and snow, dotted with pine trees and herds of caribou, “This is…” _

_ America laughed softly. He had always found it funny how they could communicate in half-sentences and broken phrases, “Yeah. This is him.” _

_ “Him?” _

_ “Mama’s instinct,” America said matter-of-factly, breaking into a smile when Canada chuckled despite himself. _

_ He was glad Canada didn’t press it, because honestly? America couldn’t explain it. He could never explain it, even after 50 other pregnancies (__2) _ _ . How was he supposed to explain that he could practically feel his child, not just inside him, but _ ** _around_ ** _ him? _

_ He could hear a baby’s bright laughter in the howling wind, could see mesmerizing violet eyes in the sky, could feel soft, silvery hair every time he brushed his fingers against the ice. _

_ He could sense the entirety of the land, its rhythm, its breath, its heartbeat pounding through the ground in tune with the tiny pulse fluttering inside his stomach. _

_ When he closed his eyes, he could practically see him. A beautiful child with eyes like the night sky and hair laced with frost, with a smile more pure and bright than a fresh blanket of snow. _

_ This was his son, his youngest state, his little Alaska. _

_ “Hawaii will be overjoyed,” Canada mused, an amused smile on his lips, “She’s always wanted a younger sibling, eh?” _

_ “Yeah,” America nodded, laughing, “Something about being their hero and protecting them from all the big bad monsters.” _

_ “Huh, sounds like someone else I know.” _

_ “Shut up,” America punched Canada’s shoulder lightly, bursting into a fit of giggles when his brother gave him a false betrayed look, rubbing his arm dramatically. _

_ “Ok, Ok, I’ll shut up now. But only because you’re pregnant,” Canada relented, “Now, let’s go inside before you freeze-” _

_ “Nah,” America brushed him off, giving him a lopsided grin, “I wanna see the lights!” _

_ “But-” _

_ America sighed, “Look, Mattie. We both know I’m not going inside and we both know you’re going to stay out here with me, so why don’t you just shut the hell up and sit your ass down so the three of us can enjoy the lights like a little family.” He stuck his tongue out at his brother, eyes shining playfully, “Unless you wanna admit I can handle cold weather better than you-” _

_ “Ok, Ok, I’m staying!” Canada snapped, no real edge to his voice, “You could’ve asked nicely!” He pouted when America snorted. “What’s the big deal with the lights anyway? You’ve probably seen it a hundred times at my place.” _

_ America smiled dreamily at the sky, shaking off the last wisps of sadness and bouncing up on the tips of his toes excitedly. “Well, yeah, but you always said it was different for you. You said it tickled-” _

_ “So we’re freezing our asses off because you wanna be tickled?” _

_ “Let me finish!” America poked his brother, pursing his lips petulantly, “I _ ** _said_ ** _ that I wanted to know what it felt like. All my other states aren’t north enough to have the lights, so this’ll be the first time!” _

_ Canada sighed, and America knew he had won. He squealed when his twin pulled him into a hug, pressing a kiss to his forehead even as he grumbled, “You’re lucky I’m so nice. Otherwise, I’d leave you out here to freeze to death.” _

_ “Nah,” America grinned cheekily, “You love me too much!” _

_ “Debatable.” _

_ “Hey-” America cut himself off. Eyes going wide as he gasped. _

_ Canada looked at him, alarmed. “Alfie? What-” _

_ “ _ ** _Look_ ** _ ,” America breathed, turning towards the sky. _

_ And there it was. The Aurora Borealis. The Northern Lights. _

_ It started out as a single wisp, a single flash of color, a single trail cutting across the vast night sky. Then more came, in blues and purples and greens, paths of light winding between the stars, constantly overlapping and shifting and blending until America couldn’t tell where the blues and greens ended and where the purples and pinks began. _

_ But it wasn’t what he _ ** _saw_ ** _ that captivated him, though it was beautiful. Rather, it was what he _ ** _felt_ ** _ . (3) _

_It was gentle, barely there, yet it made his skin tingle pleasantly. Like a swish of fabric or the brush of a feather. Like ghostly fingers trailing along his arms or tiny dancers spinning and twirling across his skin. _

_ No wonder they were also called the Dancing Lights. _

_ America closed his eyes, reveling in the feeling, wondering if his unborn baby could feel it too. It was all so… _

_ “Beautiful,” America whispered, turning to his brother, “I never thought…that it would feel like this. Is this…is this how you felt?” _

_ Canada squeezed him tighter, a knowing smile on his face, “Tickles, doesn’t it?” _

_ America let out a shaky laugh, “Yeah, it does. It really does!” _

_ They were quiet for a moment, unwilling to talk and disturb the delicate layer of peace that had settled over them. But of course, America could never stay silent for long. _

_ “Promise me something, Mattie?” He murmured, gaze still glued to the sky, watching as the lights bent and twisted. _

_ “Yeah?” _

_ America turned to him, eyes reflecting the colors of the aurora, “Promise me you’ll help keep Alaska safe.” _

_ Canada’s breath hitched, turning to look at his brother in confusion, “W-What? But, Alfred-” _

_ “Please, Matthew,” Canada stiffened at the lack of a nickname, “Alaska is isolated. He’s alone up here. Most of the other states have lots of neighbors and siblings close by, but Alaska doesn’t. And Russia is…if he so much as _ ** _looks east_ ** _ , he’ll find Alaska (4)__.” America bit his lip, clutching at his stomach protectively. “Just…promise me that if something happens…you’ll take care of him.” _

_ Canada shook his head, panic bright in his eyes, “But, Alfred, how can you even _ ** _think_ ** _ of trusting me with your child?! After what I did-” _

_ “I know,” America’s voice was uncharacteristically low, so soft Canada could barely hear it, “I know what you did (5)_ _. Believe me, not a day goes by that I don’t remember.” _

_ Canada turned his face away, jaw clenching, fingers digging so hard into the porch railing that the wood splintered, “I don’t understand why you can’t just tell them!" _

_ America crossed his arms over his chest, a frown tugging at his lips, “You know why.” _

_ Canada shook his head, not meeting America’s eyes, “I only know what you told me. You said you’re hiding the states for their own protection. So they won’t get caught in the crossfire, or threatened during war,” his voice trembled slightly, “But they _ ** _still_ ** _ got hurt. Despite you keeping them a secret, war _ ** _still_ ** _ ended up hurting them. Maybe if you had told us before, we’d have taken _ ** _precautions_ ** _ . _ ** _Maybe then we wouldn’t have invaded you and burned down-_ ** _ ” _

_ “ _ ** _Stop!_ ** _ ” America backed away from his brother, hands shaking, lips quivering with the strain of holding back tears. He took a few deep breaths, determined to control his breathing. He knew he was being irrational, his emotions heightened. If he didn’t reign them in, he’d say something he’d regret and ruin one of the only stable relationships he had. _

_ “I know you still feel guilty over what happened, Mattie,” America said softly, breath puffing out in clouds as the temperature dropped even further, “But I already forgave you. We all did. What happened…” America’s voice cracked, “You're not the only one at fault.” _

_ “I am though, Alfred! Even after all this time…” America’s heart squeezed when he noticed tears in Canada’s eyes, glimmering like liquid silver in the starlight, “How could you ever trust me again?!” _

_ “I don’t know,” America stepped forward hesitantly, reaching out and taking Canada’s hands gently, rubbing his knuckles until his fists loosened, “Maybe it’s because I’m naive, or stupid. Or maybe it’s because I hurt you too (6)_ _, and you’re still here with me. I have no clue why, but you are. So I know you won’t leave. Not like everyone else.” _

_ “Alfred,” Canada deflated, leaning his head against America’s shoulder, “You’re my brother. My _ ** _twin_ ** _ . Whatever the hell you do, I don’t think I could _ ** _ever_ ** _ leave you.” _

_ “Then why is it so hard to believe that I feel the same?” America whispered, letting his head fall on top of his brother’s, “I **trust** you, Mattie. Just...promise me. Promise me right now.” _

_ “Ok,” Canada’s breath was warm against America’s neck, his voice impossibly small, “Ok, I promise.” _

_ America sighed, looking up at the sky again, one of his hands pressing instinctively against his stomach for comfort. _

_ “But you know the truth will come out eventually, right?” _

_ America didn’t reply at first. Deep in his bones, he knew Canada was right. He wouldn’t be able to keep his secret forever. He knew it, as sure as he knew the sun would rise in the east and set in the west. One way or another, the other nations would find out. One way or another, he would have to face them all. _

_ “I know, Mattie. I know.” _

✦ ✦ ✦

** _June 1, 2019_ **

It still haunted America. The moment his children had stopped believing.

He knew it was foolish to think that that one moment had destroyed decades of sugar-sweet lies and joy-filled fantasies, elaborate excuses and cherished dreams.

No, that one moment had simply been the last straw, the much-needed proof. 

Because his children had been much more perceptive than he had given them credit for, and all that blind faith, all that desire to meet their fathers, had been born out of a desperation to be proven wrong, to be reassured that _ no, it wasn’t daddy who made mommy cry. _

America had known that they could see his tears, but he hadn’t thought they could see what caused them.

His children had been understanding, so understanding. All they had wanted was for him to not lie anymore, to not hide anymore, to not fill their heads with useless hopes anymore.

And he promised. On one condition.

_ Not a word to the others, you hear me? Please, please, _ ** _please_ ** _ don’t breathe a word of this to the younger states. _ ** _Especially _ ** _ Lilo… _

And they had understood. Because they knew Hawaii would find out eventually. They knew America’s carefully constructed stories wouldn’t be enough to satisfy her forever. She would go seeking someday, and she would find her Daddy.

And her heart would break the moment she did. 

_ We’ll be here to comfort her. She doesn’t need anyone else but us anyway. Who gives a shit about the rest of the world? We’re the goddamn United States of America! Hawaii will be better off when she finds out… _

Would she though?

America found himself thinking about it often.

No more pestering him for stories, no more begging him for visits, no more asking him for details.

But it wasn’t worth it. Not to America at least. It wasn’t worth losing that sparkle in her eyes when he talked about her father, that excited skip in her step when he mentioned her promised visit, that overwhelming joy in her smile when he told her how much her daddy loved her.

America knew she’d find out some day, but damn it all if he wasn’t going to make sure that day was far, far, _ far _ in the future.

But for now, at least, America thought it might be best if his goal was just getting to the meeting on time…

_ 14 minutes late, progress! _

America smirked to himself when Germany sent him an irritated scowl, batting his eyes innocently and pointing to the clock to show him that _ no, he hadn’t arrived 15 minutes late like last time so Germany had no right to kick him out of the meeting. _

Germany huffed and turned back to his notes, steel blue eyes skimming them for mistakes for what America guessed was probably the twelfth time. 

“Finally decided to show up, America?” England raised a bushy brow in contempt, arms crossed petulantly over his chest as America slid into the seat beside him, “I was starting to think you had forgotten, _ again _.”

America held back a wince, plastering on a bright, Hollywood grin, “‘Course not dude! Wouldn’t miss this for all the burgers in the world! Germany’d have my ass otherwise!”

England scowled, “It’s Germany _ would _ not whatever the bloody hell you said,” he sniffed as he adjusted his tie, “And besides, I should think that your love of _ hamburgers _ would trump any dedication to _ important _ matters…”

America zoned out as England launched into yet another lecture, settling his elbows on the table as his gaze roamed the meeting room.

_ Come on, come on, come on…where are you, Mattie? _

“...merica? _ America! _”

America jolted from his seat, banging his knee into the table and biting back a curse as he forced a smile onto his face, turning his head to face England again. “Y-Yeah, dude? What’s up?”

England glared, “There you go again with your _ horrid _ imitation of English! What the bloody hell are you dreaming about anyway?”

“Perhaps he is dreaming about_ l'amour _ ,” France suggested, winking at England flirtatiously, “You know, like how I dream of you, _ Angleterre _.”

America found that he greatly enjoyed the way England spluttered, ears turning a lovely shade of crimson as he swatted at France’s wandering hands.

He suddenly caught sight of a flash of red and purple and-

_ There! _

America muttered a quick excuse and hurriedly scurried away from England and France, ignoring England’s exasperated shout as he tried to disentangle himself from France’s embrace.

_ “Mattie!” _ America cheered happily, launching himself into his twin’s arms, giggling as Canada fumbled to catch him, “Can’t hide from me, forever, bro!”

“Well I can at least _ try _,” Canada shot back teasingly, relenting as America pouted, “Ok, ok, I’m sorry.”

America laughed, “Seriously, bro, you’re too easy. You gotta work on that apologizing thing, or someday, one of these dudes is gonna bulldoze right over you.”

Canada just smiled pleasantly, eyes gleaming darkly in a way that only America ever noticed, “They can certainly _ try _…”

“But anyway, dude,” America lowered his voice, ever-present grin faltering for just a moment, “I wanted to ask how he’s doing.”

Canada nudged him, smile losing its cold edge, softening into something more familiar, “He’s doing just fine, Alfie. A bit under the weather, but you know Alaska, he’ll bounce right back, eh?”

America let out a relieved breath, a tight knot of anxiety he hadn’t even known was there loosening slightly, “A-Are you sure? He hasn’t been missing me too much, right? This is the first time he’s been away from me for so long! I know I’ve been busy a lot lately, and it’s so awesome of you to take care of him for me bro, but you know he sometimes gets really lonely, right? And sometimes he needs to be sung to sleep in Russian and sometimes he needs to sleep with his pipe and then-”

“Alfred,” Canada interrupted, wrapping the younger twin in a hug, rocking back and forth gently, “He’s doing fine. You know when they’re like this, they need to be in their actual state in order to heal properly. And you can’t just spend a month in Alaska, especially now. I’m closer to him, and I promise I’m doing my best to take care of him. He’ll be better faster than you can say _ гезундхай_т.” (7)

America pouted playfully, pushing down his motherly instinct, “Hey, no fair! You know I have to brush up on my Ukrainian!”

Canada chuckled and pecked the top of his head, “Exactly.”

America sighed, resting his chin on Canada’s shoulder as the other nations squabbled around them, enjoying the brief peace he had with his brother. Canada had always been infuriatingly invisible to the rest of the world, but sometimes it came in handy, especially in moments like this. Moments when Canada could extend that invisibility to America and it was just the two of them, wrapped in a little pocket of space-time, unable to be seen by any other nation. America remembered the pranks he and Canada used to play on England using that very same power. A superpower, in America’s words.

But it only ever lasted for a few seconds before England eventually spotted him… 

_ “America! You wanker, stop dawdling and come help me annihilate this damn frog!” _

America winced as England’s shrill scream pierced through the temporary invisibility, “Sorry, bro, duty calls.” He rolled his eyes, a real smile tugging on his lips when Canada laughed.

He took a deep breath and curled his lips back into a blinding, plastic grin, “How do I look?”

Canada shrugged, a soft, sad look in his eyes, “Like America.”

America turned and bounced back over to England, sparing a curious glance at Russia when the Slavic nation started smiling, almost triumphantly, at something he saw on his phone.

“Oh, but _ Angleterre _ , we would be so _ magnifique _ together!” France insisted, pulling England flush to his chest, “Just think of everything we could do~” 

England’s entire face turned an even deeper shade of red, and America absentmindedly thought that there would be steam coming out of his ears if it were possible. 

But before England could bash France’s brains out, America grabbed France’s shoulder, yanking him away from the Englishman, “Yeah, yeah, save it for after the meeting, dudes.”

“Oh, would you like to join in _ Amérique _?” France rubbed his chin thoughtfully, “I cannot say I haven’t thought about it~”

England let out a strangled squawk, _ “The nerve of you, you stupid Frenchmen! As if I would _ ** _ever_ ** _ let you touch America!” _

America blushed slightly, definitely _ not _ liking where this was going, “Guys-”

“Ohonhonhon, _ Angleterre, _ if your purpose was to keep me from deflowering _ Amérique _ , you’re much, much too late for that,” France smirked as England’s jaw dropped, “It happened _ years _ ago, _ chéri _. You must have been the only one who didn’t know…”

America took a step forward, grin twitching nervously, “Ok, that’s eno-” 

“Well guess what, you bloody git?! _ You _ didn’t deflower America, _ I did _ . I was his first, so that means I was with him _ before _ you,” England sneered jabbing France in the chest with his finger, “So, ha, _ I win!” _

America sweat dropped, blushing to the roots of his hair as he facepalmed.

_ You have **got** to be kidding me. Is this some kind of weird, old nation testosterone fight? I swear to God… _

“Well, if we’re comparing who’s been with America,” Spain piped up, smiling sunnily as he sidled up beside the younger nation and slung an arm loosely around his waist, “I was with _ mi amor _ for quite some time, _ ¿verdad, cariño?” (8)_

America blanked, skin burning where Spain’s fingers rested, “Uh…”

“Wait, you were with him?” Prussia blurted out, red eyes wide with indignation as he stood up from his chair, ignoring the dark look Germany sent his way, _ “I was with him too!” _

“Wait…seriously _ mi amigo _? How many nations has Ame-”

_ “SILENCE!” _

The entire conference room went completely quiet as Germany slammed his hands against the table, his cold blue eyes glinting dangerously.

Prussia seemed unconcerned, waving his hand dismissively, “Yeah, yeah, we know, West. You and America had some fling during the 1880s-”

“No!” Germany roared, face flushing as bright as one of Spain’s tomatoes, “_ Verdammt _, we are in the middle of a meeting and we must get started immediately! No more talking about who America may or may not have been with!”

America let out a soft sigh in relief, heart stuttering as he shook off Spain’s arm and brushed passed the other nations to slide into his seat, face still graced with a soft pink blush. He mustered a shaky smile, “Yeah, dude’s right, let’s get this show on the road!”

Canada immediately pushed through the throng of personifications to sit next to America, one of the rare moments in which he was vaguely noticed. He placed a hand reassuringly on his twin’s knee, shooting icy glares at the other nations as they snuck glances at America. 

America spared a grateful smile in Canada’s direction before facing the head of the table, determined to not meet anyone else’s eyes. He could feel searing gazes boring into his back, sending a shiver up his spine, and it didn’t take a genius to figure out who was eyeing him. After the argument that had happened just a few minutes ago, it had to be England and France, maybe Spain and Prussia too. And America could have sworn he saw Germany stare at him for a moment too long with a look in his eyes that he had to have imagined. He hadn’t seen that look in over a century… 

“I shall go first, da?” Russia said, interrupting America’s musings as he stood up from his seat. His lips were fixed into that same vacant smile that the blond nation was so familiar with, his violet gaze sweeping the table, as if making sure the others were ok with his decision. But America knew it was just for show. None of the other nations were going to protest even if they wanted to.

America’s skin prickled as Russia’s eyes lingered on him, long enough for him to notice something strange sparking in their violet depths. Something dark and gleeful and triumphant.

America wondered if he should have protested.

“You see, comrades,” Russia purred smoothly, voice dripping with malice, “I have recently acquired some…_ interesting _ information regarding our little superpower…”

America’s eyes widened as the entire world turned to stare at him. He scowled, “What kinda information, you commie bastard? You been spying on me?!”

Russia giggled, and America had to summon every ounce of his will to stop himself from shuddering as those cold eyes traced his figure. “One needs to be careful, don’t you think Amerika? Especially when nations start to have loose lips, hmm?”

America stood up, blue eyes blazing with rage, “The hell are you talking about, commie? Just spit it out!”

Russia’s entire face darkened as he leaned forward, gloved hands slamming on the table as he loomed over America, childlike grin twisting into an outraged snarl, “What I am _ talking about_, you capitalist pig, is the fact that _you_ have been telling civilians about the secret of the nations!”

For a moment, one single, blissful moment, the entire world froze, eyes wide, mouths agape, shoulders stiff. Time stopped, the second hand on the clock above the meeting room table stuck between 3 and 4. America’s brain short circuited, the only thing registering was the insanely slow beating of his heart in his ears and the mounting dread rising in his chest. 

Then the moment passed and chaos erupted faster than the Red Scare. (9)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (1) The date is a combination of July 7, 1958 (when The Alaska Statehood Act was enacted) and December 26, 1991 (the year the Soviet Union fell)
> 
> (2) 50 pregnancies refers to the 49 other states + D.C.
> 
> (3) In case it was confusing, I was trying to imply that countries that experience the Northern Lights don't only see them, but can also feel them against their skin. That's why it "tickles!"
> 
> (4) Alaska and Russia are actually only 55 miles apart, separated by a body of water called the Bering Strait. So, pretty much, if Russia happens to glance over his shoulder, he could probably see Alaska. It's this proximity that scares America and drives him to ask Canada for help!
> 
> (5) In the interest of not revealing everything, I'm just gonna say that Canada has a MAJOR sore spot for something he did to America (cough in 1814 cough) that may or may not have involved one of his kids.
> 
> (6) America is referring to when the Americans invaded Canada during the War of 1812 and burned down the capitol at York on April 27, 1813.
> 
> (7) гезундхайт (Ukrainian) = Gesundheit (if this is wrong I'm so sorry, I get all my translations from google translate!)
> 
> (8) ¿verdad, cariño? (Spanish) = Right, darling?
> 
> (9) The Red Scare was basically this phase that started in 1917 where pretty much the whole US was afraid of communism and spread all this propaganda against it.
> 
> DISCLAIMER: I just wanted to remind you all that in this fic, the timeline is kinda screwed up heh. I'm trying to work around it as best as possible, but there's only so much I can do, so please please please forgive me if I contradict myself at points (like if I say America was pregnant with a state, but at the same time was with a nation that isn't the state's father) Rippppppp meeeeeee XD


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Merry Christmas/Happy Hanukkah/Happy (whatever holiday you celebrate) guys!!! I'm FINALLY on Winter Break (have been for a few days), so consider this my holiday gift to all of you! I am so, so, so grateful to each and every one of you for all the support and encouragement I've received for this story, and I hope you'll all continue to enjoy it and much as I love writing it!! 
> 
> As always, feedback and comments are very much appreciated whether it's something you've noticed or a favorite line or just something you want me to know, so don't hold back!! <3
> 
> State Names Mentioned:
> 
> Olivia - Montana
> 
> Henri - South Dakota
> 
> Wilhelm - North Dakota
> 
> Benjamin - Massachusetts

**Flashback ~**

** _June 1, 2019 - 7:25 AM_ **

_ America felt old. _

_ So old. _

_ It was extremely rare for him to feel like this, like his immortality was slipping through his fingers and the countless decades were finally starting to catch up to him. He was usually filled with so much life and vitality, his skin giving off the healthy golden glow of youth, his voice unwavering in its volume and vibrancy, his eyes sparkling with innocence and carefree joy.  _

_ This ancient feeling, this eroding, crumbling, withering feeling, was usually just a simple side effect of inactivity and having too much time on his hands. Time that allowed him to think too long, reflect too much, grieve too hard. Time that allowed every single one of his four hundred and twelve years of life to settle onto his shoulders like layers of sediment on the banks of a river.  _

_ And God, were they heavy. _

_ He knew that if he ever brought up this feeling in front of the others, they’d crack a rib laughing at him. And he supposed they had a right to. He was well aware that his measly four centuries didn’t hold a candle to the seemingly eternal flame of countries like China, Egypt and India. Hell, he was practically an infant compared to them.  _

_ But it was hard not to feel old when he was completely surrounded by hyperactive children. _

_ “Olivia!” America called out exasperatedly, dodging kids as they zipped by him, chasing each other playfully, “Olivia, where are you?!” _

_ America pursed his lips as he shielded his face from the sun, eyes scouring the front yard of his Massachusetts property, trying to find his little Montana. But his children were ducking behind trees and flying across the grass so fast he could scarcely keep track of them all. Honestly, where was that girl?! _

_ America had to leap out of the way as said girl came charging at him from the left, face set with determination, brown hair littered with leaves and tiny twigs. _

_ America cupped his hands around his mouth, shouting after her before she could make it out of earshot, “Olivia! Get back here, young lady! We need to talk about your new highway project!” _

_ Montana didn’t even spare him a glance.  _

_ “One second!” she hollered over her shoulder, her braids flying as she stumbled, lunging for Wyoming, “I’ve got Wy right where I want her!” _

_ Wyoming stuck her tongue out, dancing out of the way as Montana barrelled passed her, “Yeah right, Monny! In your dreams maybe!” _

_ Both girls giggled as they bolted away, their sweet laughter hanging in the air along with the scent of summer sun and ripening fruit. America huffed in irritation, but he couldn’t help the warm swell of affection in his chest and the soft maternal smile gracing his face. _

_ “These kids are gonna be the end of me,” America murmured playfully to himself, shaking his head in amusement, “How am I supposed to conduct a meeting when they don’t bother to sit still for more than two seconds?” _

_ He tilted his head at the thought, frowning for a moment as he wondered where the hell Massachusetts was. The only reason for the older boy to be there was to help supervise his younger siblings! America looked around, eventually spotting the teen leaning against a tree on the other side of the field, texting furiously. _

_ Oh right. There was a Yankees vs Red Sox game today. America rolled his eyes, running a hand through his hair tiredly. He’d seen the exact same thing happen when it was New York’s turn to help babysit the younger states. America should have known better than to schedule a meeting on the same day as a baseball game, but for God’s sake couldn’t they chill out for five minutes? (1) _

_ He turned his face towards the sky as if seeking answers, sighing as he decided maybe he shouldn’t have gathered thirteen of his youngest states at the same house (2), in the middle of summer, when the sun rose at 5 AM and his children were practically solar-powered. _

_ Huh, so he’d set himself up for failure. Figures. _

_ America groaned, “C’mon Olivi--” _

_ The feeling hit him over the head with all the force of a sledgehammer, making the edges of his vision dark and fuzzy. A vague sense of dread ran through his veins, dousing him in cold as if he’d been shoved into a lake. He bit the inside of his cheek as a strange shudder climbed up his spine, the hairs on the back of his neck standing straight up. All of a sudden, the sunshine didn’t seem so bright and warm, the wind so playful and welcoming. All of a sudden, his children’s laughter was slightly muffled and distorted, the leaves of the oak trees fluttering to the ground in slow motion. _

_ All of a sudden, he couldn’t shake the feeling that he was being watched-- _

_ “Mutti!” _

_ America blinked as he snapped out of his daze, the foreboding chill retreating to the back of his mind, not quite there, but not quite gone either. Simply replaced with parental concern as a distressed child’s voice floated to him on the lazy summer breeze. America barely had a moment to register a head of pale blond hair streaking towards him before South Dakota collided with him at top speed, latching on as America struggled to stay upright, his breath completely knocked out of him. _

_ “Mutti, save me! Save me!” _

_ America took a moment to catch his breath, running his hand comfortingly through the little boy’s hair, brows furrowed in confusion, “...Henri? What...what’s the matter,  _ ** _Mausi_ ** _ ?” _

_ South Dakota looked up from where he had buried his face in America’s stomach, his lips twisted into a pout, “Mutti, you have to save me! Wilhelm is treating me like a  _ ** _slave_ ** _ ! He won’t let me go play! He’s trying to  _ ** _control_ ** _ me like I’m his puppet! Can’t you ship him off to Vati so he’ll leave me alone?!” _

_ America’s mouth twitched as he tried to suppress a smile. He knew very, very well how overdramatic his son could be. But, he figured it would be disastrous if he were to laugh at South Dakota while his eyes were shining dangerously like this, like he was trying his best to hold back tears of frustration.  _

_ “Aw honey,” America said soothingly, rubbing his thumb across the boy’s cheek, “You know your brother only wants you to work hard because he cares so much--” _

_ “I know that, Mutti!” South Dakota whined, bottom lip trembling as he looked pleadingly up at America, “But he’s...he’s a  _ ** _tyrant_ ** _ ! He’s gonna take away my democracy and put in a dictatorship! And then--” _

_ Before South Dakota could get another word in, a second blond haired child came stomping up to them, features furious as he muttered under his breath.  _

_ “There you are, you lazy dummkopf!” North Dakota bellowed, speeding up a little to stand in front of America, “Verdammt, South(3)! We really need to discuss the DAPL (4) further! We haven’t even reached a conclusion yet and you already want to go frolicking after butterflies!” _

_ “See, Mutti!” South Dakota wailed, trying to climb up America’s legs to get away from his twin brother, “The inhumanity! North is out of control! It’s just a matter of time before he goes power mad! He’s--” _

_ “He’s also right,” America interrupted, raising a brow at the shocked look of betrayal on South Dakota’s face, “You really need to come to a conclusion about that issue today,  _ ** _Mausi_ ** _ .” _

_ South Dakota slid down America’s legs, face carefully blank as he glanced up at him and then at North Dakota, who was impatiently tapping his foot. Then the twelve year-old bolted, sprinting away as North Dakota’s jaw dropped, “You’ll never take me alive, North!” _

_ North Dakota facepalmed, glowering after his twin as he disappeared into the general chaos, “I cannot believe I’m related to  _ ** _that_ ** _ .” _

_ America laughed, a bright, happy sound that could rival the sunshine. If he was being honest, he often wondered the same thing. They were quite literally polar opposites. South Dakota with his cheerful, flamboyant, borderline-ditzy personality and North Dakota with his serious, dedicated, rigorous work ethic couldn’t have been more different. If they hadn’t been carbon copies of each other, America was certain no one would be able to tell that they were related, not to mention  _ ** _twins_ ** _ . But then again, he and Mattie had never been all that alike either. _

_ And just like him and Mattie, his little Dakota twins loved each other more than they’d ever admit…  _

_ “Lazy, good-for-nothing, dummkopf! When I get my hands on you, I swear I’m going to skin you alive!” _

_ Well, more than  _ ** _North Dakota_ ** _ would ever admit. _

_ “Careful there, Willie,” America piped up cheerfully, scooping his son into his arms and kissing his cheek, ignoring how the boy struggled fruitlessly, “If you kill your brother, there’ll be no one left to annoy you to pieces! Doesn’t that sound so boring?” _

_ “Mutti!” North Dakota whined, sounding a lot like his twin as he wiped his cheek, “I’m not a baby! I don’t need to be coddled!” _

_ “Oh,  _ ** _of course_ ** _ !” America drawled, pressing another sloppy kiss to North Dakota’s other cheek, “You’re all grown up now, right? And so mature! Whatever was I thinking!” _

_ North Dakota frowned disapprovingly even as his icy blue eyes glittered with laughter, “Sarcasm does you no good, Mutti.” _

_ America’s brows shot up in surprised amusement, “Oh, really! I’ll show you how much good it does me!”  _

_ North Dakota’s eyes widened in understanding, but it was too late. America attacked him with a mischievous smile and an iron grip. And all North Dakota could do was squeal as his mother tickled him, both their faces flushing pink with delight as they giggled. _

_ That prickling sensation nagged at the back of his mind again, but America did his best to push it down, too caught up in the way North Dakota’s usually irritated scowl broke into a grin as he tried to wriggle away from America, the way his eyes sparkled like ice on a crisp winter morning, the way his nose scrunched up in his effort to hold back his laughter. _

_ “Uh, am I interrupting something?” America and North Dakota looked up as Massachusetts sidled towards them with a stack of papers in his hands, the annoyed frown on his face melting into an affectionate smile, “‘Cause I can come back later if I am.” _

_ America shook his head, setting North Dakota back on his feet and placing a kiss on top of the boy’s head, “No, now’s a good time,” he raised a brow at his older son, “Game not going well?” _

_ Massachusetts smiled sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck, “I wasn’t--” America gave him a knowing look, “...Ok yeah, I was.” _

_ America chuckled fondly, “So, what’s up?” _

_ Massachusetts sifted through the papers for a moment, pulling out an agenda sheet before glancing up at America, “Let’s see, there’s supposed to be a conference with the Senate this coming Thursday, a World Meeting today, some lame golf tournament with the president next Tuesday--” _

_ “Wait what?!” America’s eyes widened as he snatched the agenda from Massachusetts, “No one told me there was a world meeting today! I haven’t even gotten Montana to brief me about her highway project!” He scanned it quickly, an irritated groan bubbling in his throat when he saw the words “World Meeting” scrawled in his own messy handwriting next to “June 1 - 9:00 AM.” _

_ Maybe he  _ ** _was_ ** _ getting old. He had never forgotten about a World Meeting before! He really had to get a secretary or something, or at least the Reminder app on his phone. And maybe he should stop scheduling State Meetings on the same days as World Meetings. _

_ “God damn it,” America hissed, shoving the paper into his back jeans pocket, “Germany’s gonna kill me!” _

_ Massachusetts checked the time on his phone, humming thoughtfully, “Well, it’s supposed to be in New York, so if you take the jet you’ll be there in little over an hour--” _

_ “You’re right! Thanks, Ben!” America quickly grabbed the rest of the papers from Massachusetts, skimming over the first few frantically, “So I just have to give these to the other personifications? That’s it, right?” _

_ America whirled around, legs tensed and ready to run to the airfield, but he hesitated for a moment as that odd feeling washed over him again. He looked around with wary blue eyes, and he could have sworn he saw something bright and flashy from the bushes, but in the next instant it was gone and he suddenly realized that North Dakota and Massachusetts were both staring at him. He didn’t miss the look of concern that passed between them, and in an effort to not worry them, he brushed off the feeling, sending his sons one last grin and a wave before taking off. _

_ “Ok, see ya guys, be good, Ben, you’re in charge!” _

_ Massachusetts just blinked as America made a mad dash for their private airfield, bomber jacket flapping in the breeze as he ran. “...Well, ok then.” _

_ North Dakota sighed, arms crossed over his chest as he shook his head, “When will Mutti learn? Those other nation-people always seem to be on time.” _

_ Massachusetts let a cocky smirk flash over his face, one hand on his hip as he ruffled his little brother’s hair, “Yeah? It’s ‘cause those other ‘nation-people’ don’t have thirteen little brats to take care of.” _

_ “Of course, big brother. Mutti must have such a hard time with you and the other twelve--” _

✦ ✦ ✦

** _June 1, 2019 - 10:47 AM_ **

America didn’t notice when the video footage cut out, Montana’s voice still echoing in his head, North Dakota’s laughter still ringing in his ears, Massachusetts’ face still frozen on the projector screen for the whole world to see.

He didn’t notice as the other nations leapt from their seats, some with their eyes bright with panic, others with fury, and still others with a grim satisfaction, as if they had known America would be the one to blow their cover.

He didn’t notice as Russia shot him a triumphant glare, his violet eyes dancing with glee and unspoken challenges, urging America to say something, to defend himself, to humiliate himself, to condemn himself. Maybe all three. But, for once in his life, America did not answer him.

Because he had known this day would come.

He had known it would all come apart eventually. 

_ Nothing lasts forever.  _ He had always known that. But one part of him, a tiny, stubborn, tragically hopeful part of him, thought that maybe this would be the exception. That maybe he could go on keeping this secret, living this lie, playing this part, even if it destroyed him. But he should have known better. The universe was not so kind as to let him quietly destroy himself.

No, it had other plans for him, and once upon a time, America thought he could face anything the universe threw at him, could willingly give it anything it wanted so long as his children ended up safe and happy.

But what the universe wanted from him, what it  _ demanded _ from him, was the one thing he wasn’t prepared to give. 

_ You know the truth will come out eventually, right? _

America squeezed his eyes shut against the emotions pressing down on his chest, dozens, maybe hundreds of them. Each one too tangled in the other to sort out completely. His chest burned with rage, his blood running deep and scorching through his veins, roaring in his ears because  _ god damn it _ had Russia been  _ spying _ on him, all this time? His world tilted as dread chilled him to the bone, his body going light and airy as hot and cold collided inside him, forming a blissful, steamy vapor that made him light-headed and dazed. Fear made his mask shatter into miniscule particles of dust, the force of it like a dark black tidal wave washing over him, dragging him into the deepest recesses of his mind where things he’d rather not remember dwelt in the shadows.

Oh, when will he learn? The universe shows no mercy.

America gasped as the memories flashed through his mind, drowning out all the voices yelling at him, blurring all the faces looking at him, numbing all the emotions threatening to overwhelm him. They were the memories he had suppressed for so long, memories that brought back the pain full force, memories he would have done  _ anything _ to forget.

_ America struggled as his children tried to hold him down, doing everything he could to fight the pain lancing through his entire body. He could vaguely hear a little girl crying, could make out people flitting between his bed and the one right beside his. He didn’t know why but something inside him was screaming at him to get up, to just  _ ** _get up and go to him_ ** _ . He managed to push Texas away and sit up for a split second before his vision swam, bright spots dancing in front of his eyes, a sharp pang of utter agony exploding from his stomach like someone was stabbing him, again and again. Texas managed to push him down, Alabama and Mississippi hurrying over to help their brother, but still America struggled. He opened his mouth, but his throat was dry and scratchy from screaming and all he could see were his people throwing themselves out of windows and the Twin Towers crumbling to the ground like cheap lego sets. And his hands were red with blood that was his and not his and oh God New York was lying in the bed next to him and he wasn’t moving and America reached out for his son but he just couldn’t-- _

_ America curled around a trembling body as planes roared over his head. He had always loved spending the winter months here, with the warm tropical sun and the soothing sway of the palm trees and the gentle lull of the ocean. But now the salty scent of the ocean breeze was tainted with the metallic tang of blood, making him gag every time he breathed in. He could hear the shrill screams of his people and the distant thunder of explosions over the crashing of the waves. He could feel a dull ache in his right ankle, shooting pain through his leg every time another bomb went off. But it was nothing,  _ ** _nothing_ ** _ , compared to Hawaii's pain. She whimpered again, the sound pitiful and weak, and all America could do to comfort her was to tighten his hold on her and whisper comforting words into her ear and run his shaking fingers through her hair. And when he heard footsteps, soft and measured, he didn’t have to look up to know who it was-- _

_ America cradled a tiny, broken bundle against his chest, the blanket dirty and ripped and covered in soot. He was unbelievably hot, sweat rolling down his face, mixing with the ash streaking his cheeks. He rocked back and forth slowly, his breaths coming out in short pants, denial and panic rising unchecked in his throat, his eyes watering from the excruciating pain that spread from his chest to every limb. He sang softly under his breath, an old British lullaby, his voice cracking every time he gasped as another wave of searing agony washed over him. He shook the bundle in his arms, urging the little being tucked inside it to keep moving, keep breathing even as the flames raged around them. But the smoke was wrapping its dark and dusty hands around his throat and he could barely breathe himself let alone encourage someone else to do the same. And then, before he could blink, the bundle stopped moving and all the air was forced out of America’s lungs because dear God his  _ ** _brother_ ** _ had done this to him. His brother had hurt him and burned his Capital and killed his ba-- _

_ “America!”  _

America gasped, feeling rushing back into his limbs. He got up suddenly, his body instinctively itching to run, but his knees buckled and he pitched forward, Canada lunging to catch him before he face-planted on the ground.

“America! What do you have to say for yourself?!” England spat, bushy brows furrowed in outrage as Canada helped America back into his seat.

America looked up at him numbly, his blue eyes dark and hazy. A fervent denial was on the tip of his tongue, desperate words meant to save a desperate situation. But he hesitated, and there must have been something about his expression because England faltered, his green eyes confused and the slightest bit worried.

_ They  _ ** _still_ ** _ got hurt. Despite you keeping them secret, war  _ ** _still_ ** _ ended up hurting them. _

America inhaled deeply as Canada’s words came back to him. He still remembered that fateful night under the stars. When Canada had told him that he couldn’t hide this forever, couldn’t run away forever. And no matter how much he wanted to, America knew he would never forget all the moments when his children had suffered because of  _ him _ . Because he was America and that meant he had a big red target painted on his back. A target he had unintentionally passed on to his children. 

_ Maybe if you had told us before, we’d have taken  _ ** _precautions_ ** _ .  _ ** _Maybe then we wouldn’t have invaded you and burned down-_ ** -

Maybe America should have told them all, decades upon decades ago. Maybe then they would’ve helped him protect his children… _ their  _ children, instead of indirectly harming them because they wanted to hurt  _ him _ . 

America shuddered under the weight of the world’s gaze, indecision written all over his face. Part of him knew there was no going back, the others had seen too much. He didn’t understand  _ how _ he could have let this happen, he had always been so _careful._ But perhaps it was karma, or some cruel twist of fate, or simply the will of the universe that put him into this position. Whatever it was, it had pushed him too far in to dig his way out now. But he hesitated, because the instinct was still there, despite everything. Every fibre of his being was still screaming at him to make an excuse,  _ any _ excuse. The video footage was damning at best, so maybe he could still play it off like he really  _ had _ revealed the secret of the nations--

“Why did he call you  _ Mutti _ ?”

America’s train of thought skidded to a halt when Germany spoke, heart sinking as he slowly turned to face the man. Germany’s face was ashen, his skin paler than even Prussia’s, his hands clenched so tightly that he snapped the pen he was holding. He didn’t even notice as the blue ink stained his stark white fingers. The way he was looking at America made his breath hitch, his icy blue eyes a chaotic storm of shock and fear and disbelief and  _ anger _ . 

Eyes that looked so much like North and South Dakota’s.

England wrinkled his nose, “So what if the brat called him that? I hardly think it’s relevant, given the circumstances we’ve just witnessed--”

“ _ Amerika _ ,” Germany stood up suddenly, his accent thickening in his distress, “Answer me.  _ Now _ .”

“I…” America trailed off, trying to swallow the lump in his throat. He relaxed just slightly when Canada’s hand came to rest on his shoulder. A silent show of support. “I um…”

“I still don’t understand why it matters so much!” England interrupted hotly, scowling at the German nation, “What does that even mea--”

“Verdammt, England,” Prussia snapped, fisting a clump of snowy hair in his hand, “It means  _ Mother _ . Don’t you know basic German?”

The majority of the nations stiffened in shock, gawking at America as the white-haired nation continued, “And those two kids. Those two kids looked  _ exactly _ like West. Care to explain, America?” He looked pointedly at the blond nation, glancing at Germany when his brother started to visibly tremble.

America pretended not to notice as England turned to stare at him in shock. He could practically see the wheels turning in his head, trying to sort out what the new information meant and what it implied about America and Germany’s relationship. And he pretended not to notice when the realization dawned on England, the shock twisting into abject horror.

“Y-You mean…” England struggled for words, his face reddening at the thought, “You…an-and  _ he… _ ” 

America stood up, shoulders slumped in resignation. Despite what they all said, he wasn’t a complete fool. Between his strengthening acceptance and the mounting curiosity of the other nations, he knew there was no salvaging the situation. 

The time had come.

He approached Germany slowly, like how one would approach a wild animal, ignoring the heated looks he was getting from several nations, their eyes glimmering with interest. Right now, Germany was all he focused on, all he  _ could _ focus on. Because the man looked so close to having a mental breakdown, and America felt a tiny,  _ tiny _ shred of relief that he wasn’t the only one whose emotions were about to get the best of him.

“Germany,” America breathed, trying to block everything out, “Germany, please look at me.”

He could tell the other man did so with great difficulty, his normally pale blue eyes darkened to a hard, royal blue, his face twisted with so many emotions America couldn’t tell what they all were. “So…?” Germany’s voice cracked under the strain of not exploding at America, “Is it...Are they...who I think they are?”

“Yes,” America whispered, but in the silence of the room that single word seemed to echo, “Yes, they are.”

Germany gulped, and America watched as his adam’s apple bobbed up and down, “Mein Gott…” (5)

“It’s not just them,” America said, and before he could even think twice, the words were pouring out of him, “I-I have more...not with you!” he added in hurriedly when Germany’s eyes had widened, “W-With…” America turned to look at the others, brushing a few strands of hair behind his ear self-consciously before gesturing vaguely at the rest of the assembled nations, “I had kids with um…a lot of you guys. 50 in all. They’re the personifications of my states.”

He braced himself for what he knew was coming. Some stupid whore comment about how he slept around and fell into bed with anyone who would have him. But he was mildly surprised that no one had responded. They were all just looking at him, with expressions that ranged from horror to irritation to, strangely, a touch of  _ excitement _ . 

It didn’t slip past America’s notice that Russia had been uncharacteristically silent, and when he turned to him, the other nation’s face was completely blank, no sign of that familiar glee or malice. The look in his violet eyes almost seemed  _ vulnerable _ , and when Russia noticed America staring at him, he didn’t smile creepily or spew vague threats or bare his teeth in a shark-like grin. He just mouthed a single word to America, one of his hands coming up to clutch at his scarf subconsciously.

_ Alaska? _

America gave him a barely perceptible nod and the Slavic nation looked stricken, taking a step back as he clutched his scarf so tightly his knuckles turned completely white.

America didn’t even  _ want _ to look at England, dreading what he’d find in the blond’s expressive face. But when he managed a quick peek, all he saw was England staring at the wall before he slowly moved to rest his head on the table. America didn’t say anything; England had figured it out already.

A single glance at the Netherlands, Japan and China told him they had no idea. The Netherlands just watched with an air of neutrality and boredom, twiddling a cigarette between his fingers, Japan simply looked mildly interested as he took photos and scribbled something down in a notebook, while China looked vaguely irritated at the scene America had caused.

America’s heart sank even further, practically falling into his shoes. But he scolded himself all the same, honestly what had he been expecting anyway? That they’d all rush to him and beg him to see the children they had never even met? That they’d take him into their arms and kiss away his worry because they were going to be the fathers his children deserved? That they’d apologize for every insult, every unkind word, since he had given them something no one else ever had?

What if they didn’t even want to be in his children’s lives? What if they didn’t even care? There was a difference between their fathers not being aware of their existence and their fathers outright rejecting them. Rejection meant they didn’t want anything to do with his children, couldn’t care less what happened to them, wouldn’t make any effort to see them, not even once.

Rejection meant that his children were absolutely nothing to them.

America couldn’t even bear the thought.

“Can we…” America jolted when Prussia’s voice broke the silence, “Can we meet them?”

America looked at him suspiciously, searching his face for cruelty or mockery or some ulterior motive, but all he found in Prussia’s ruby red eyes was sincerity and kindness.

Spain and France were wearing similar expressions: a mix of lingering uncertainty, stark astonishment, and a gentle anticipation that made their eyes wide and soft and maybe even  _ hopeful _ . (6)

And America clung to that, with every bit of willpower he had left.

“ _ Y-Yes _ ,” he stuttered, trying not to sound too relieved or desperate, “Yes, you can meet them.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Translations (if anything's wrong plz let me know! I used google translate cuz I'm basic sorry XP):
> 
> German ~
> 
> Mutti = Mom (isn't that just the CUTEST way to say Mom ever??? Idk why it's so adorable to me but it just is!!!)
> 
> Vati = Dad
> 
> Mausi = little mouse (which is a German term of endearment, isn't it just adorable?? I really like to think that America would want his kids to have strong ties to their fathers' heritage and culture like learning the language and how to make the food, etc. etc.)
> 
> Dummkopf = idiot
> 
> Verdammt = damn it
> 
> Mein Gott = My God
> 
> (1) Ok I know I'm frequently invoking the New York/Massachusetts rivalry thing, but I can't help it! I'm really, really looking forward to writing their interactions in following chapters, their sibling rivalry is just adorable!!! (aaaannd they may or may not drag in a certain pair of twin states into it XD)
> 
> (2) In case I didn't explain it properly, the general idea of the flashback is that America was at a state meeting with his thirteen youngest states. 1, because the oldest states don't need as many check-ins as the younger ones and 2, because America really didn't want to handle ALL of them at the same time.
> 
> (3) Ok so, you know how Germany and Prussia call each other West and East? I was thinking North and South Dakota could call each other North and South! And it's perfect because in the 1880s, there was a huge influx of German immigrants to America. They settled in several northern states, but North and South Dakota were two of the states that got the most immigrants, so I'd like to think this time period is when Germany and America had their fling and America got pregnant with the twins!
> 
> (4) DAPL = Dakota Access Pipeline, which is a 1,172 mile long underground oil pipeline that runs from North Dakota through South Dakota, Iowa and Illinois. 
> 
> (5) Ok so, just to clarify, the nations are aware that any personification can bear children, regardless of whether they are male or female. That, combined with the fact that the Dakotas called America "Mutti" and they look like mini Germanys, kinda heavily implies to everyone at the meeting that they're GerAme kids.
> 
> (6) The BTT can be a bunch of softies, don't even fight me on this.


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone!!! I'm actually really happy with how this chapter turned out and I'm SO excited because we're FINALLY getting to the good part, YAYYYY! (Honestly, I sometimes think the story's pace is too slow. Is it too slow???)
> 
> I've been getting so much wonderful encouragement and support and comments and just GAHHHH y'all don't know how much you mean to me!! Your support is EVERYTHING, I thrive off of it!! And don't worry lovelies, I'm still continuing this fic! I put WAY too much work and effort and energy into it to stop now! (Plus I have SO MANY IDEAS~)
> 
> IMPORTANT NOTICE PLEASE READ: Ok so, before you guys read this chapter, I just want you to know that the main focus is UK/US. That being said, that ship has always been really iffy for me (considering the fact that England and America met when America was physically a 5 year-old). In fact, I'd say it's a NOTP. But, I really wanted this fic to be historically accurate and realistic, so I've decided to write this ship because the story makes no sense without it! And despite me being iffy about the ship, I'm still gonna write it to the best of my ability!! So, for the sake of my conscious, how about we just pretend America and England first met when America was already all grown up? Like, England still taught him everything and showed him the world and stuff (think Jasmine/Aladdin), but he did all that when America was grown up. And the reason they never got married was because England was just WAY too busy going back and forth from Britain and the colonies to court/propose/marry America properly. They just kinda fell in love a century in and never got around to marriage before the Revolution. Ok? Ok!
> 
> Lol I guess I confused people, haha, the main focus of THIS CHAPTER is UK/US, not the entire fic. Idk what the endgame ship is gonna be, but there are WAY too many ships for me to only write one!!! So expect a LOT more ships other than this one guys.
> 
> As always, I hope you enjoy, and I'd love you forever if you leave a comment!! (fav line, feedback, etc.)
> 
> States' Names:
> 
> (not specifically mentioned but fyi) Delaware = Patrick (cuz of Patrick Henry and the high population of people with Irish descent)

_“The __apple tree and__ its __fruit symbolize__ wonderful qualities that we all __should__ strive to achieve in our daily lives, including truthfulness, _**_love_**_, appreciation of both internal __and__ external beauty, _**_remembrance of the past_**_, peace, _**_romance_** _and__ fertility.”_

~~~~~

**Flashback ~**

** _October 26, 1781 (1)_ **

_ At first, England had thought it was all a dream, a cruel joke, a silly prank. A minor inconvenience that he could squash under his boot like he had crushed so many others before. A simple task that he could accomplish with the practiced ease of a conqueror who held the world in his hands. _

_ At first, England had paid little attention to it. Simply deciding to humor them for a few months, wear them out with meaningless skirmishes, allow them to bask in the adrenaline-filled rush of rebellion. He would let them fight, let them struggle, let them remind themselves how futile it all was. _

_ At first, England had been so confident in his victory. His reach extended across the seas and beyond the horizon, his shoulders bore the weight of an  _ ** _empire_ ** _ and he carried it with nary a misstep or hesitation, his eyes crackled with that fervent desire to loot and pillage and conquer until there was not a single civilization that had been spared his wrath. _

_ He was unflinching, relentless,  _ ** _invincible_ ** _ . _

_ At first, anyway. _

_ Perhaps that was where he had gone wrong. He took and took and took and  _ ** _took_ ** _ , but the world was just too big to be cupped in his palms, and in his effort to encompass it all, he faltered, let a part of it slip right through his fingers. _

_ That damned nation with the sparkling blue eyes and the shining gold hair and the sickeningly sweet smile. That ungrateful wretch who smelled like wildflowers and honey and summer breezes. That callous bastard whose skin seemed to glow as if the sun itself blessed him with its divine radiance. _

_ The one who was supposed to lose in the end. The one who should have run into his arms with blood and tears streaking down his face. The one who he would have forgiven a thousand times if he had just  _ ** _surrendered_ ** _ . _

** _America_ ** _ . _

_ “God bless America!” _

_ England flinched as another raucous burst of laughter echoed through the tavern, his head aching at the sound of high, gleeful voices and wooden mugs slamming against table tops.  _

_ “Land of the frrrrrreeeee, home of the brrrrrraaavvve,” another one slurred, lifting his mug high in the air before downing its contents in one fell swoop, choking when his companions roared in delight and clapped him on the shoulders. _

_ England scowled into his own mug, glaring at the meager drops of amber liquid sitting at the bottom, hands itching for his musket so he could put a bullet between the drunkards’ eyes. _

_ “Blasted redcoats better not show up ‘ere, eh?” the first man sneered, “We’re a free country now, aren’t we, lads? We’d see ‘em British bastards comin’ from a mile off, and send ‘em back to their ‘ittle island with their tails ‘tween their legs!” _

_ England visibly stiffened at that, every muscle tensing as he fought not to grab the nearest sharp object and ram it into one of their chests. The sheer disrespect and vulgarity of their words was enough to have him seeing red, and if he didn’t get out of the tavern quickly, he really would attack them--something the craftier, wiser side of him knew would only lead to trouble.  _

_ Not that he was afraid. He was an  _ ** _empire_ ** _ , for God’s sake! He could snap their necks as easily as twigs without batting an eyelash. But he was outnumbered here, and his very aura was attracting unwanted attention. He knew that the people around him could vaguely sense it, perhaps not quite place it, but sense it all the same. Sense that he was intruding, he was an outsider, he did not belong there. _

_ His own people. _

_ His  _ ** _former_ ** _ people. _

_ He felt eyes on him again as he left, lingering for longer than the times before. The bloody Yanks had gone strangely silent as they watched him go, and England knew that if he had stayed longer his intimidating aura would not have kept them away. More men were joining them and they were getting drunker and drunker by the second; it would have only been a matter of time before they confronted him. And the second he opened his mouth to retaliate, they’d know who he was,  _ ** _what_ ** _ he was. _

_ Redcoat, Lobsterback, Tyrant, Devil. _

_ England took a deep breath as he stepped outside, the cool evening air brushing against his skin, clearing his mind as easily as it cleared the foul stench of whiskey from his clothes. He could smell rain on the wind, could practically taste the oncoming storm, green eyes drifting to watch the dark clouds hanging overhead as they moved with mind numbing slowness.  _

_ It was comforting in a way, to know that some things never changed. Water would always follow him, would always adore him. From the burbling creeks and streams of the English countryside, to the roaring, raging, untamed waters of the Seven Seas, to the tiny, crystalline beads of rain sent from the Heavens. _

_ England forced his legs to move just as the first droplets landed on the ground, tilting his head back to feel them sprinkle across his cheeks, more like a light spray than real rain, little prickles of cold against his flushed skin. _

_ He didn’t bother to cover his face as he walked, only mildly aware of the other people scurrying about on the streets of Jamestown (2). It hardly mattered anyway. It wasn’t as if one could look at him and instantly recognize that he was an Englishman. He had already relinquished his brilliant red coat, polished black boots and proud tricorn hat, settling instead for a simple wool coat, waistcoat and breeches. All of the passersby that happened to glance at him, their eyes bright with the recent news of victory and freedom, easily mistook him for one of their own: a colonist, a patriot, an  _ ** _American_ ** _ .  _

_ Not a Brit, not anymore. _

_ That simple fact hurt so much more than England thought it should. _

_ He had no destination in mind, his feet following some invisible path that he could sense, but not see. It was an insistent tug deep in his gut, a primal instinct that called to him, coaxing him to follow some set course. It wasn’t until the surroundings became more familiar that England understood where exactly he was going, and the realization had him coming to an abrupt halt at the foot of an apple tree, his heart squeezing painfully. _

_ He recognized the worn path, eroded and smoothed by feet beating against it a countless number of times. He recognized the old wooden gate a little ways in front of him, chipped and weathered by the elements. He recognized the very apple tree he stood under, distinguished by the little carvings he and America had chiseled into its trunk years and years ago. _

_ England’s knees almost buckled under the force of his longing, and he reached out to touch the damp tree trunk, fingers tracing a lopsided heart engraved in its center. If he closed his eyes, he could recall that exact moment with astonishing clarity. He could picture the way America’s cheeks had flushed so prettily when England had leaned over his shoulder to see what he had been doing. He could feel the warm swell of mirth and affection when America had shyly mumbled that he wanted to put their names in the heart, wanted to memorialize their feelings for each other. England had laughed then, amused by his love’s odd sappiness, and America had been so embarrassed he stormed away before he could finish the carving, England chasing after him with an apology already on his lips. _

_ Things had been much simpler then. _

_ The rain was coming down harder when England stopped at the gate. He hesitated, one foot sliding forward almost of its own accord. Longing battled with heartbreak as he carefully pushed the gate open and stepped into America’s front yard, wincing when it let out a shrill squeak as it swung closed. _

_ He could feel it clearly now, the incessant tugging, the irresistible pull that had been nagging at him since he had left the tavern, or perhaps since he had landed in America, or maybe even since he had lost the bloody Revolution. He had not been able to place why he had decided to visit America so soon after the war ended, concluding that it was for nostalgia’s sake. These had been his colonies after all. But instinctively, he knew that  _ ** _this_ ** _ was why. This yearning, this tugging, this insane  _ ** _longing_ ** _ , was why he had risked coming to this place at a time when they would string his neck up on any damn tree should they get an idea of who he was, and not a single soul would offer any protest. It was a feeling he once firmly believed had  _ ** _died_ ** _ as soon as he was defeated, another casualty of the war. _

_ Love, as twisted and jagged and messy as it now was, England could still recognize it. _

_ It was too late to leave anyway; America likely knew he was here. Nations had always had the peculiar ability to sense another nation that entered their land. So it was no surprise when England stood on the porch, hand raised to knock, and the door opened before his knuckles came into contact with the wood. _

_ Sweet Lord he should have run away when he had the chance.  _

_ America blinked at him, and England was wholly unprepared for how much the other nation still affected him. The moment he met America’s gaze, it was like everything else faded away. He was pinned under those blue eyes, his entire world narrowing down to America and his rumpled white nightshirt (3) and his parted pink lips and his endlessly annoying cowlick that refused to lie flat.  _

_ God, he had missed him. _

_ America shifted, shoulders straightening, and England was suddenly all too aware that the blue-eyed nation was  _ ** _only_ ** _ wearing a nightshirt, oversized enough that it fell to his mid thighs, leaving the rest of his legs scandalously bare. England was thankful that the new nation didn’t invite him inside, the chilly air helping him to fight down the heat creeping up his neck. But the cold couldn’t stop him from letting his eyes wander, down the curve of America’s neck, across his collarbone, tracing the lines of his waist, lingering on the soft skin of his thighs, before snapping back up to America’s face. _

_ God damn it, he looked so touchable-- _

_ “What are you doing here?” _

_ England’s breath hitched as he finally noticed the hardness in America’s eyes, the steel. All of a sudden, with the rain pounding on the ground behind him and America’s sharp eyes boring into him, it was like he was kneeling in the mud again, back hunched with grief and pain, musket lying forgotten to his left, thunder booming and roaring overhead. And America was standing in front of him, hideous blue uniform flecked with blood and dirt, face streaked with rain and tears, eyes red and puffy yet unflinching, unwavering. _

_ England had lost him that day, lost him to the war, to the endless struggle, to the relentless fighting, and for what? _

_ Independence, Liberty, Freedom. They all meant the same thing. _

_ Abandonment, Betrayal,  _ ** _Loss_ ** _ . _

_ “England,” America repeated as he glanced over England’s shoulder, looking for more “Redcoats” perhaps, “What are you doing here?” _

_ He sucked in a breath, heart sinking at America’s phrasing. _

_ England. _

_ Not Arthur, not Artie, not love, not  _ ** _darling_ ** _ … _

_ England. _

_ He had never hated that name before. _

_ America huffed, apparently losing patience as he moved to close the door, but England was too quick, his hand slamming against the wood painfully in an effort to keep it open. _

_ “I am not here as England,” he whispered, face so close to America’s that he could see how perfectly his eyelashes framed those blue, blue eyes. “I’m here as Arthur. Arthur Kirkland.” _

_ America tipped his head to the side, eyes narrowing in consideration. “Fine,” he said slowly, “What are you doing here, Arthur?” England shuddered as America spoke, his voice lilting, caressing the name even though England knew he didn’t mean to.  _

_ “I...I needed to see you,” England murmured, and his heart was beating so  _ ** _loudly_ ** _ , “I knew I might not get the chance after today.” _

_ “Well...you got your look, haven’t you?” America’s eyes flashed, a hint of nervousness, a hint of uncertainty, and maybe, though it could have been England’s own desperation playing tricks on him, a hint of longing too. _

_ “You know what I mean, Alfred,” England’s voice dipped low, “I...I loved you for over a century, I can’t...I can’t just  _ ** _forget_ ** _ .” _

_ America’s jaw clenched stubbornly, but his eyes darted away and England could see his hands tightening on the wooden frame of the door, fingers trembling. A mad rush of hope sparked through England’s chest. _

_ “Please, Alfred...America,” he corrected hesitantly, “Please just let me...let me hold you. Just this once.”  _

_ America’s eyes flickered up to his, and England could feel himself falling, falling,  _ ** _falling_ ** _ , into their blueness, like drowning in the sky. America’s gaze was searching, looking for something in England’s green eyes, what exactly, he didn’t know. _

_ Wordlessly, America moved aside, and England had to bite back a groan of appreciation as he stepped into the house. The door closed with a soft click, and barely a moment passed before England was pressing America up against the wall, reveling in the warmth of the other nation’s body against his own, fingers trailing up the bare skin of his thighs. Desire, hot and all-consuming, coiled low in his stomach, every fibre of his being trembling with barely suppressed need. _

_ “Impatient old fool,” America murmured, voice teasing and perhaps even affectionate. England didn’t dwell on it long, pressing hard kisses to America’s lips, mouth firm and demanding, before straying to his jawline and making his way down the curve of his neck. When he scraped his teeth against the juncture of America’s neck and shoulder, the blue-eyed nation let out a breathy gasp that made something inside England purr with approval, but it was short-lived. America pushed him away gently and England could only catch a brief glance at the pink blush spreading across that golden skin before America walked away, stopping a few paces in front of him. He glanced over his shoulder, blue eyes wide and soft like cornflower petals, lips puffy and red from harsh kisses, hair ruffled and mussed up yet still as bright as finely spun threads of gold. _

_ This time, England couldn’t conceal his sharp intake of breath. Dear Lord, if America had looked at him like that during the Revolution, even once, it would have been  _ ** _humiliating_ ** _ how swiftly England would have given in to his every demand. _

_ “Aren’t you coming?” America whispered demurely, voice soft and just a tad uncertain, and it suddenly hit England that this would be America’s first time. His very first time. England couldn’t hide how that pleased him so very, very much. _

_ America didn’t wait for his response, slipping noiselessly down the hall and deeper into the house, the sway of his hips beckoning England in ways he couldn’t even fathom. _

_ And all England could do was follow closely behind.  _

✦ ✦ ✦

** _June 8, 2019_ **

England almost didn’t recognize the house.

He supposed it wasn’t even a  _ house _ anymore, what with all the renovations and expansions. Now, it was more like a huge, sprawling  _ mansion _ with its sleek, elegant columns and high, arched windows, and wide, spacious veranda. At first glance, it looked like any other modern luxury estate in Virginia, but when he got closer, England could pick out all the little details that hadn’t changed since the house was first built in 1610. The walls were still a beige-white as before, the roof a deep indigo blue to match the night sky. The colors were fresher and brighter, so England knew they had to have been repainted, perhaps many times. Flowers of every hue and shape and size filled the age-old window box planters, clashing horrendously with the paint job and each other. But then again, America had always cared little for aesthetic, preferring vibrant splashes of every color, even if it did border on garish.

But the thing England remembered most clearly, the thing that had helped him identify the estate in the first place, was the towering apple tree in front of it. (4)

England was a little taken aback when he saw it. He was certain that the tree should have been dead by now, or, at the very least, America should have chopped it down. It was an ancient, gnarled, crooked thing, a blight upon the neatly manicured lawn, a stark contrast to the younger trees on the estate’s perimeter. It looked to be in the transition stage between flowering and fruit bearing, the last dainty blossoms fluttering gently to the ground as unripe apples peeked out of the leaves. 

England reached out to touch the trunk as white petals landed in his hair, his fingers instinctively drawn to the place where the heart was once carved. If he squinted and tilted his head just so, he could almost see a faint outline--

“Should I be jealous of an apple tree now,  _ Angleterre _ ?” A voice teased, large, warm hands coming down on England’s shoulders. England yelped, whirling around to see France smirking at him playfully, blue eyes twinkling with laughter as England shoved him away. 

“Sod off, frog!” England scowled, swiping the white petals out of his hair. He could feel his face heating up in embarrassment, mentally chiding himself for getting consumed in reverie and forgetting that he wasn’t alone here. Over France’s shoulder, he could see the others milling about aimlessly on the lawn, their hands clutching their luggage tightly (5). As England’s gaze bounced from nation to nation, he couldn’t help but find it intriguing how differently they were all acting. Prussia and Spain seemed ecstatic, their hands gesturing animatedly as they talked, their eyes practically glowing with excitement. Close by, Germany stood staring at the mansion intensely, a troubled expression on his face. The blue-eyed nation paid little attention to North Italy, who was prancing around him and crowing about how excited he was to meet America’s children, and completely ignored South Italy, whose face was bright red as he ranted about something or the other. The Netherlands was also mainly focused on the mansion, his face thoughtful as he blew out smoke and snuck occasional glances at Russia, who was, surprisingly, keeping to himself and not acting bloody deranged as he so often did. 

England’s eyes snapped to the gate as it swung open, lips curling downwards when China stomped through. He seemed aggravated, as usual, his face pinched and tight as he lugged his suitcases towards Japan. The other Asian nation scrambled to assist him, looking relieved to be doing something with his hands. From what England remembered, China hadn’t taken the news all that well. And England would be lying if he said he hadn’t been just as shocked when America revealed  _ China _ to be a Father nation. Some of the others he could understand, like Prussia, Spain, hell even Germany to some degree! At least Germany had close ties with America at one point, but Russia and China?

It made England wonder just how many nations America had seduced, trying not to dwell on the sharp twist of pain in his chest as he lingered on the thought.

“Can we go in, now?” Italy whined, hanging off of Germany’s arm, “I want to see the little Americas~”

England shot a withering glare at Italy, feeling a flicker of satisfaction when he squeaked and ducked his head. He didn’t understand why the Italy brothers had been so insistent on joining the little “field trip.” They didn’t have any children with America as far as England knew. But he figured it had something to do with Italy’s natural curiosity and childishness, and Romano, well, England had no idea why he decided to come along. Despite his expressiveness, South Italy could be quite unreadable when he chose to be. 

“ _ Verdammt _ , I’m done waiting,” Germany growled, marching purposefully towards the front door, “I’m going to knock.”

England tuned out Italy’s shout of ‘hooray’ while he and the other nations followed Germany onto the porch, half hiding behind the broad-shouldered blond as if something inside America’s house would jump out at them when the door opened. 

England shuddered as he shifted his weight awkwardly, skin tingling with the remembrance of that night, all those years ago. When he had stood alone in front of America, those sharp blue eyes stripping him bare, of his pride and his ego and his arrogance, until he was no longer  _ the British Empire _ , tamer of the seas, conqueror of the world. He was just  _ Arthur Kirkland _ , his heart shivering and vulnerable as he offered it to America with his arms outstretched.

He had found himself on America’s doorstep several times throughout the years, each time giving the golden-haired nation his heart, each time snatching it back and leaving before the sun came up. 

Bloody hell, if only he had  _ known _ \--

England didn’t notice when Germany knocked, he didn’t hear the doorbell ring when there was no response, he didn’t hear the frantic footsteps as someone hurried to the door. He just blinked, and all of a sudden, he was staring into those  _ oh so familiar _ blue eyes. But they weren’t quite like they had been over two centuries ago, hard and steely and guarded. This time, America’s eyes were wide and open, flickering with panic and alarm.

“ _ Shit _ ,” America breathed, glasses sliding down his nose, hands dusted with flour, “Oh, shit shit  _ shit _ , I thought I sensed you guys here but then…” America fumbled with his words, pausing to anxiously wipe the flour onto his already ratty jeans. “ _ Damn it _ , I coulda sworn you guys were supposed to come  _ next  _ week!”

Germany opened his mouth to retort, but America made a shushing gesture, glancing worriedly over his shoulder, “Ok, so, I  _ kinda-maybe _ didn’t tell them that you’re visiting yet--”

“Of course you didn’t,” China muttered, folding his arms over his chest, frowning in disapproval.

America took a deep breath and chose to ignore the comment, smoothing down his wrinkled shirt and tucking a few loose strands of hair behind his ear as he composed himself. His fingers left a smudge of flour on his cheek, and England’s hands twitched as he fought the desire to reach up and gently wipe it off. 

“Sorry about that, I kinda freaked out on you,” America giggled nervously, the corners of his eyes crinkling as he gave them a sweet smile. It wasn’t one of the usual Hollywood grins he’d flash during World meetings, all blinding white teeth and childish arrogance. This was different, still just as bright, but in a subtler, softer way, filled with a warmth England had rarely ever seen before.

He was suddenly grateful that he was partially hidden behind Germany. England didn’t know if he could take the full force of that smile. And from the way Germany’s ears had turned a bright, blazing red, he could tell Germany couldn’t quite handle it either.

America stepped back into the house, signaling them to follow him with a slight incline of his head, “You can leave your suitcases by the door for now, we’ll come get them after I introduce you. Just remember that before you say  _ anything _ , you  _ have _ to let me speak first--”

“Mom?” America stiffened, smile freezing in place, “Who’s at the--”

A young man appeared through the entryway to the living room, stopping dead in his tracks when he caught sight of the nations assembled at the door, his hand slowly lowering from where it had been pressing a phone against his ear. 

All the air rushed out of England’s lungs, his eyes widening at the boy, a tumultuous mixture of euphoria and pain and disbelief making his head spin and his heart throb. England’s fingers trembled as he took in the boy’s figure: his tall, wiry frame and his long, lanky limbs and his scruffy blond hair. And his face, God, his  _ face _ ...his face was  _ England’s _ . From the bushy eyebrows, to the thin nose, to the sharp angle of his chin. Complete with pale, leaf green eyes that glittered with intelligence and shock. It was all England.

But when he looked closer, England could see the little touches that were so  _ America _ . The tanned skin tone, boasting of a joyful, carefree childhood spent frolicking under the sun. The honey-gold color of his hair, a shade darker than his mother’s, but gleaming just as brightly. The same irritating cowlick, sticking up proudly while the rest of his hair lay smooth and straight. 

Lightning arced through England’s body, fizzling in his blood, crackling in his bones, and he  _ knew _ . This was his son...his bloody  _ child _ .

_ I helped create this. _

England’s eyes grew misty, his body leaning forward to take a step towards his beautiful boy--

“ _ Mom _ ,” his son hissed, and the word was cold enough to have England falter, as if his feet had suddenly been encased in ice. There was a faint cracking sound and England’s gaze darted to the phone in his son’s hands, gulping as a thin fracture spread across its screen, the boy’s knuckles almost white as his fingers clenched around it. Those green eyes,  _ England’s _ green eyes, narrowed to slits as the young man’s face twisted into a snarl, “What are  _ they _ doing here?”

America bit his lip and stepped slightly in front of England and the other nations, “W-Well, they’re here to meet you all!” England couldn’t see his face, but he could almost feel the false enthusiasm dripping from his voice.

The boy’s jaw tightened almost imperceptibly, but England had always been able to catch all those little ticks, “They’re not welcome here.” He stated it simply and logically, his voice cool and detached. It was a tone England was  _ very _ familiar with, a tone he had used many times throughout the centuries, always just before he  _ snapped _ . 

America approached the boy slowly, seeming to sense the rage lurking just underneath the surface of his son’s dismissive tone. America’s shoulders were tensed with determination, his hands outstretched to cup his son’s face tenderly. The boy allowed America to pull him into a hug, but his eyes stayed on the group of nations, boring into them from over his mother’s shoulder. His gaze was untrusting and calculating as it drifted from face to face, a flare of green fire igniting in their depths when it landed on England. 

“C’mon, Delaware,” America murmured and England had to strain his ears to catch the words, “They came all this way. I know it’s going to be hard, but  _ please _ just do this, just  _ try _ . For me?”

Delaware’s eyes softened a fraction of a degree as they finally moved to America, and after what seemed to be a brief battle of wills, he nodded reluctantly, tucking his cracked phone into his jeans pocket and regarding the group with an achingly neutral expression.

America immediately brightened, his entire face lighting up as he leaned in to peck Delaware on the cheek, much to the young man’s chagrin. “Remind me who’s home, Del?”

Delaware relaxed slightly, the tension in his stance easing, but England took no comfort from it, his stomach churning with dread. His fellow nations shifted uncomfortably as Delaware turned his gaze to them again. Slowly, a smile spread across his face, a cold, cruel smile that England just knew the boy had inherited from him. It was a smile that spoke of dark promises, laced with morbid amusement and anticipation, “Right now, just Arizona, California, New York and  _ Texas _ . They’re in the game room.”

The edge of America’s lips twitched as something flashed in his blue eyes, too quick for England to catch it, “Oh boy, here we go…”

“W-What is that supposed to mean?” Italy blanched, his face devoid of all that earlier enthusiasm, his amber eyes darting around as if looking for a monster lurking in the shadows, “ _ America?! _ ”

“It means one wrong move and you’re  _ dead _ ,” Delaware cut in before America could reply, voice impressively smooth and aloof, but England could see the glee dancing in those green eyes, “ _ Be careful _ .”

“ _ Delaware _ ,” America snapped, shooting the state a stern look, but Delaware simply shrugged in response, leaning against the wall nonchalantly. 

America huffed, blowing a strand of hair out of his face before giving Italy a reassuring look, “Don’t mind him, Italy, he just enjoys giving people a good scare. California and Arizona are actually super friendly! New York and Texas can be a little intimidating at first, but they’re real sweethearts when you get to know them, I promise!”

England didn’t know if it was the encouraging confidence in America’s voice, or the soothing softness in his eyes, but Italy relaxed almost immediately, the excitement rushing back into his face. England, however, couldn’t be reassured that easily. Between the way America’s fingers nervously fiddled with the hem of his shirt, and the way Delaware seemed to be silently jeering at them, England wasn’t quite sure that he wanted to meet these “sweethearts.”

But before he could politely object, perhaps request that they be shown to their rooms first, America flashed them all a quick, supportive smile and beckoned England and the other nations to follow him. He swept past Delaware, the state watching cooly as the group filed along behind his mother. When England past him, so close that their shoulders brushed, Delaware shot him a careful look. To others, it would have seemed like nothing more than an accidental, cursory glance, bored and mildly curious, but not to England.

No, England knew better. Such was his curse.

He could see the warning in Delaware’s eyes, the threat, the  _ hatred _ . The festering rage and disgust and spite expertly veiled by a curtain of fake politeness and stoicism. England himself had given and received that very look too many times for him to not recognize it on sight. Received it from arrogant pirates and furious savages and ignorant traitors.

But never,  _ never _ did he think he’d get it from one of his own children.

England could hardly breathe as he stumbled along behind Spain, deaf to the low murmurs of conversation going on between the nations around him. His mind was fuzzy and unfocused as they walked across the living room and up a spiral staircase, the weight on his chest crushing him under its enormity. If only  _ one _ of his children carried so much hatred for him, England didn’t even want to  _ think _ about how much they’d have combined. 

He wasn’t even sure if that much hatred could exist at once.

“I’m...I’m sorry about that,” America said, his voice floating down the line to England, “Delaware, he didn’t...he’s not…” He trailed off as he came to a stop in front of a mahogany door, the wood almost completely covered in a jumbled collage of stickers, from superheroes to stars to Disney princesses. 

“He really is an amazing person,” America continued in a hushed tone, reaching up to smooth down a wilting sticker, sighing as it simply flaked off, “And an even better son.”

Before he could think twice, England was pushing past Spain and France, gently picking up the fallen sticker. It was a shooting star, golden and cartoony and frayed, with an obnoxiously optimistic smile and  _ You Can Do It! _ in block letters below its face. England was all too aware of America’s eyes on him as he carefully pressed the sticker back onto the door, half sure it would just peel right off since it had lost almost all of its stickiness. But it didn’t, and now the bloody star was smiling at him from its new place near the center of the door.

“I’m sure he is,” England whispered, heart fluttering when he met America’s gaze. The younger nation did a half-shrug-half-smile, his head tilting and his eyes crinkling as he beamed at England.

“What can I say? I raised him right.” Beneath the teasing lilt of his voice, England could hear the pride lacing America’s words. Not arrogance or cockiness, but real pride. The selfless, loving kind that parents have when they talk about their children.

All the lingering doubts England had about America being a parent were erased. Of course America was a mother,  _ of course _ . In a world that was all self-obsession and mindless desperation, what else could give him that selfless pride? In a life that was all rough turns and sharp edges, what else could give him that rare softness? In a situation that was all messy misunderstandings and dark secrets, what else could give him that angelic glow? 

England stepped back as America rested a hand on the door knob, glancing over his shoulder to offer one last, encouraging smile, blue eyes glittering with equal parts excitement and apprehension. And England sucked in a breath as a familiar warmth blossomed deep in his chest, fragile and flickering, but alive.

_ Aren’t you coming? _

He would win them back, he would win them  _ all _ back. His children and his happiness and his  _ America _ . He didn’t care if it took thousands upon thousands of years. He didn’t care if he had to crush other nations underfoot to get there. He didn’t care if he only succeeded  _ moments _ before he finally faded into memory.

_ I assure you…  _

He had conquered the world after all. How hard would it be to conquer a few hearts?

_ You couldn’t bloody keep me away. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you know, updates will be coming less frequently than usual, but NEVER FEAR, my idea mill is going strong and I won't abandon this story (it's like my baby!)
> 
> Love you all with all my heart <3333
> 
> (1) October 26, 1781 is exactly a week after the end of the Revolutionary War. October 19 was the Battle of Yorktown where the British finally surrendered to the American Rebels, though the formal surrender wouldn't be till two years later in 1783.
> 
> (2) Delaware was conceived in Virginia, idk. Jamestown was the first colony to be established, so I thought it would be more meaningful if the setting was here. I like to think of Virginia as second-oldest and since she and Delaware look so much alike, they're often mistaken for twins!
> 
> (3) Apparently, pajamas in colonial America for men were literally what looked like oversized shirts (did they wear pants? who knows?) XD
> 
> (4) Ok so I didn't realize until after I finished writing that apple trees only live for like 40-50 years, and this apple tree lived for like 300. XD As an excuse, let's say America's immortality rubs off on things important to him like the house and the apple tree (since it's a symbol of the love he had for England)!
> 
> (5) In case you're wondering, the reason America ended up inviting ALL of them at the same time is that he didn't want the states to gang up on any one of the Father nations. I mean, think about it. You have one father nation who is used to verbally abusing/making slightly insulting comments about America vs 50 incredibly protective states who won't hesitate to murder anyone who hurts their mom. So yeah, America figured it would be safer for them all to visit at once (they certainly have the space!) Plus, they wouldn't DARE to hurt the states unless they're looking to die. As for the states, I'm thinking right now, there will only be a few who are at home and then slowly, more and more will come into the story. I don't think it's a good idea to put all 50 in at once, that'll be overwhelming. So assume that the others are off doing state things, and they'll return home eventually! (Also why no state realized the nations were there, Virginia is busy)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey, everyone!! I’m so sorry that this chapter took like over 2 months to write, but I’ve been completely SWAMPED with work lately. We just recently started online schooling, and I’ve been struggling to get over a serious case of writer’s block! Plus, the state of the world right now isn’t the best atmosphere to get a lot of writing done, you know? But! I’ve been doing my absolute best to write each and every chapter with as much love and effort as I can, so that all of you can truly enjoy it! Consider it my small way of spreading happiness in this time of uncertainty. And it’s the least I can do to offer my support to everyone 💖💖💖 I sincerely hope that all of you are doing well, and that you will all continue to stay healthy and safe!!! Practice social distancing!!!! I hope you know that I love you with all my heart 💖💖💖
> 
> As always, enjoy the chapter, and let me know what you guys think in the comments!!!
> 
> States’ Names ~
> 
> New York - Luc  
Texas - Noah (not mentioned, just FYI)  
California - Camila  
Arizona - Miguel (not mentioned, just FYI)

** _June 8, 2019 - 1:47 pm_ **

There have only been a few moments in California’s life in which she truly knew peace.

Even as a little girl, born at a time when greed for gold had men trampling through her forests and sucking her rivers dry (1), she had known how fragile peace was. How breakable. How much it resembled a dying fire, cupped between the hands of Man, sheltered from the howling wind, providing only as much warmth as it could until the flames eventually flickered out.

And they _ always _ flickered out.

Even amid the moments of celebration, when the church bells rang and the people cheered in relief and jubilation, she had felt the sickening feeling of dread coiling in her stomach. Thickening the air with a heavy sort of anticipation. Because she had known it was only a matter of time before this hastily formed, unstable tranquility passed. The flame had been coaxed back to life, but it was nothing more than smoke and hot air, a shadow of peace, a weak attempt at warding off a storm that had already started gathering at the horizon.

And _ no one _ would be able to escape it. 

Even when she had been tucked under her mother’s chin, nestled safely beside her younger siblings as strong arms wrapped around her, she had heard the crash and roar of armies moving across her Mama’s land. She had watched as her family scattered, as her Mama clutched tattered letters close to his chest, the paper creased with the imprints of fingers that had held them too tight, stained with the wide, wet circles of tears that smudged the ink and blurred the words. Lincoln had tried everything he could to reignite the flame, but he was sifting through crumbled ashes and faded cinders. There was nothing left to salvage, nothing left to provide light as the darkness came creeping in, carrying the telltale signs of chaos and bloodshed and war in its shadowy hands. 

And once again, the peace _ shattered _. 

_ Civil War. _

What a silly name. There had been nothing _ civil _ about it.

_ Big Sister Florida stormed out of the house, her green eyes blazing with fury, her wavy brown hair whipping in the wind, her skirts swirling restlessly around her as California called out her name. But the thunder was booming so loudly that the young girl’s voice was hopelessly drowned out, her own brown hair plastered wetly to her forehead, her little hands held in front of her face to shield her eyes from the stinging, sideways rain. California didn’t understand what she had done wrong. All she had asked was why Florida wanted to hurt those poor people (2). But something had changed in her beloved older sister as soon as she posed the question, and no matter how loudly California cried out, Florida did not slow, did not falter, not even glancing back as she disappeared into the murky, black night— _

_ Texas laughed as he stumbled after his older brothers and sisters, his face open and bright with childlike excitement, a boyish skip to his step as he clumsily held a rifle in his hands. California clung harder to her mother’s waist, watching miserably as Texas bounded away from them in long strides. He was only a few decades older than California (3), but she could already see the power thrumming under his skin. His shoulders, though not quite as broad as Georgia’s yet, were still much too wide and much too strong for someone as young as him. California’s lips quivered as Alabama clapped a hand against his little brother’s back, the younger state shooting a lopsided grin at the older. Texas looked so much happier with them than he did with California. Maybe…maybe she and Mama just weren’t enough for him to stay— _

_ New York staggered into the house on a warm summer evening, his body thin and bony with malnutrition, his eyes dull with exhaustion, his face red and purple with blood and bruises. California shrieked as soon as she saw him, too beaten and battered for her to identify. Mama came running in when he heard her scream, letting out a heart wrenching cry when he caught sight of New York. The older state managed a weak, shaky smile, grotesque to the eye because of how bruised his face was. California could only stare, dumbfounded, as Mama tended to the “strange man,” her eyes lighting up with recognition as the grime and blood was cleaned off of his face. Without a moment’s hesitation, she bundled herself against her older brother, New York’s arms falling around her trembling body as he murmured to her softly, a rare moment of gentleness from him. But even as he whispered, California could not stop wondering. Had their siblings done this to him? Had their siblings hurt him this badly? Had their siblings gone so far as to nearly ki— _

“YOU GOTTA BE KIDDING ME!”

California was startled out of her thoughts, her eyes widening minutely, her fingers instinctively coming up to curl a strand of beach-blonde hair behind her ear, her nose scrunching as she blinked away the memories. 

“THERE’S NO WAY, THERE’S ABSOLUTELY _ NO. GODDAMN. WAY _.”

California’s brows rose upward in alarm as New York leapt from his seat, his hands slamming down onto the tabletop, his face twisting into a scowl as he glared at the space directly in front of her. She followed his murderous gaze to five unassuming cards spread out neatly across the table, absently noting that together they were a royal flush (4).

“YOU CHEATED, GOD DAMN IT, THERE’S NO OTHER WAY YOU COULDA BEATEN ME _ AGAIN _!” New York thundered, gesticulating wildly as he started pacing in agitation.

California took his moment of distraction as an opportunity to glance around and get her bearings. She took in the forgotten plates of half-eaten pizza, the overturned cups of Coke and Mountain Dew, the sizable stack of cash sitting next to her left elbow. 

_ Oh. Oh, right. _

Pizza, Coke, Cash. Of course. They were playing poker, and by the looks of it, she was kicking some _ serious _ ass.

California recovered quickly, trying to hide her momentary confusion. She fluttered her eyelashes innocently as a sweet smile spread across her face, “Aw, YoYo, there’s a simple explanation,” she drawled, “You just suck at poker.”

She giggled as New York slumped back into his seat with an irritated huff, muttering curses under his breath, his eyes flashing as he continued to death-glare her. She was unaffected, smugly noting his obviously ruffled appearance: the way his shirt sleeves were rolled up and stained with pizza sauce, the way his favorite trench coat was slung haphazardly across the back of his chair, the way his hair stuck up in silly little clumps like he’d been tugging at it too hard.

_ Damn _, all three. She must’ve really gotten to him.

Beside New York, Texas blew out a resigned sigh as he threw down his own cards, pulling his hat down low to cover his eyes in embarrassment, “Can’t believe you won Round 91, too. There goes my lifetime supply of Redbull.”

New York whirled on him, hands fisting an already abused lock of hair, “At least you didn’t bet all the newest designs from Fashion Week! The designers are going to _ kill _ me!”

California shrugged nonchalantly, leaning forward to prop her elbows on the table, relieved that they were too preoccupied with their loss to notice her zoning out in the middle of the round, “What can I say? When you’ve been stuck chaperoning Nevada in Las Vegas as many times as I have, you pick up a thing or two.”

“Yeah, right! You probably have an ace up your sleeve or something!” New York retorted.

California looked down at her tank top and then back up at New York, raising a single eyebrow incredulously. But before she could kindly remind him that she didn’t even _ have _ sleeves at the moment, the side door connecting the game room to the emergency stairwell opened.

California glanced over her shoulder, the corner of her mouth twitching in amusement as Arizona scurried through, precariously balancing a silver tray of lemonade in his hands. He stumbled over to the table, his dark curls bouncing with every step, a look of intense concentration creasing his brow. When he set the tray down, his lips curled into such a brilliant smile that California’s heart lurched, a warm swell of affection rising in her chest.

“See!” Arizona puffed his chest out in pride, “I told ya I could do it! Didn’t spill a single drop!”

New York waved his hand dismissively, making a face as he bit into a slice of cold pizza, “Yeah, yeah, congrats, kid. You made it up the stairs without falling.” 

“Ah don’ listen to him, lil bro,” Texas ruffled Arizona’s dark hair fondly, side-eyeing New York with a smirk, “He’s just jealous ‘cause he prob’ly couldn’t’ve walked up the stairs without tripping over his damned bathrobe.”

Arizona burst into a fit of giggles as New York squawked indignantly, whacking the back of Texas’s head and insisting that _ it’s not a bathrobe, you heathen, it’s a trench coat, a _ ** _trench coat_ ** _ ! _

Usually, California would have dived head-first into their petty argument, chiming in with a _ if it’s not a bathrobe, then why do you wear it to bed _ ** _and_ ** _ to the shower? _

But this time, she was content with just sitting back and watching them.

New York, with his mussed up hair and his pink-flushed face, rolled his sleeves up as if to get ready for a fight, features settling into his signature scowl. But she knew it was just for show. Because his hazel eyes were too bright and too mischievous, lit up in shades of green and gold, twinkling with the laughter he always kept inside. 

Texas, with a challenging glint in his eye and a teasing tilt to his head, propped his feet up on the table, readjusting his hat with a good-natured grin when New York pulled the brim down over his face. California’s heart expanded in her chest at the playfulness in her brother’s voice, a sisterly fondness welling up inside her at the familiar way he tipped his head back to laugh.

Arizona, with wide eyes and an adoring smile, sipped his lemonade as he watched the _ excellent _ examples his older brothers were setting. He hopped onto the edge of the table, perfectly content with sitting between the two loud-mouthed states, swinging his legs without a care in the world, snickering when New York or Texas managed a particularly amusing quip.

There was a presence about her brothers when they were like this. A warm, safe kind of aura that they always gave off during times of peace. A stark contrast to the people they became when the country was launched into all-out war.

New York during war time was all fidgeting hands and sharp words and suspicious eyes constantly looking over his shoulder.

Texas during war time was all steely looks and dark laughs and twitching fingers frequently straying to his gun holster. 

And Arizona…

Well, California had never seen Arizona during war time (5). And she hoped, to whatever God was watching from above, that it would stay that way.

Because she and New York and Texas had been forced to grow up too fast, darting from war to war with fear and destruction nipping at their heels… 

_ Mexican-American War. _

_ Civil War. _

_ Spanish-American War. _

…but Arizona had grown up far, far away from the sound of guns crackling in the misty morning, and the smell of corpses rotting under the summer sun, and the feeling of bullets burying themselves in exposed flesh.

Arizona was still young, a little boy who looked about ten, and California was so, so grateful that at least her baby brother could take his time growing up. Could enjoy life for all that it was supposed to be. Could know what it’s like to be a _ child _ and to be _ safe… _

At least her baby brother could know peace.

“What, not gonna join in on the fun?”

California turned her head to see America sidling up beside her, humming softly in delight when he bent over to place a kiss on the top of her head. She knew it was childish, but she loved it when America greeted her like that. It took her back to when she had been a young state, cuddling up to her mother on one of her white-sand beaches, with the sunset in the distance and the salty spray of the sea all around them. 

“Hmm, well, I figured I’d just play damage control later,” California smirked, leaning her head against America’s torso, “I just whupped their assess so hard in poker, you know? It took a lot outta me.”

She felt more than heard America’s chuckles, her smug smirk softening into a genuine smile as his sides trembled with laughter.

“Oh, hey, Ma,” Texas shoved New York away, clutching onto his hat as the blond made a lunge for it, “Did someone come by earlier? Thought I heard cars outside.”

America stilled, the laughter getting caught in his throat. California’s brows furrowed in concern as she pulled away to look at him, her worry deepening when she caught sight of his face.

The tightness in his smile, his lips pulling thin around the edges like he was trying hard to maintain a happy grin. The stiffness in his posture, his shoulders going rigid as if he thought someone was about to attack him. The cheerfulness in his eyes, frozen like a layer of ice over water, glimmering prettily on the surface, but hiding darker emotions just underneath.

_ Check, check, and check… _

She knew Arizona couldn’t see the signs, but the instant she met New York’s gaze, the brightness faded from his eyes and he gave her an almost imperceptible nod. Texas let go of his fistful of New York’s shirt, his face hardening as his eyes flicked from America to his siblings.

“What’s goin’ on?” Texas demanded, his fingers subconsciously drifting to his hip.

America inhaled sharply, and California could almost feel the nervous energy bouncing around inside him. “Well, you see—”

There was a loud commotion outside the main door: a mixture of hissed voices, muffled _ oofs _, and a loud yelp like someone’s foot had been stepped on.

Her older brothers’ eyes narrowed dangerously at the door, and California tensed, a nauseating feeling tugging at her gut. She squeezed her eyes shut as its familiar heaviness sunk to the bottom of her stomach, settling in the deep crevice it had carved out decades ago. It was a feeling she had felt one too many times in her 171 years of life.

Dread.

The kind of dread that made her heart stutter in her chest like a trapped bird desperate to escape its cage, the kind of dread that pressed down on her shoulders with a force that made her legs buckle, the kind of dread that she had prayed she would never, _ ever _ feel again.

The kind of dread that shattered peace. 

_ God damn it, what is it _ ** _now_ ** _ ? _

“_ Listen _ ,” America said, and his voice was alarmingly low and hesitant, “You _ can’t _ freak out on me, okay? Please, just _ don’t _ freak out. I need you to stay calm and not react. At _ all _.” He locked eyes with the three older states, waiting until all three had nodded before turning towards the door.

California scooted closer to Arizona, pulling him into her so that his back was against her stomach and her arms were wound around his shoulders. She soothingly ran her fingers through his dark curls, shushing him when he opened his mouth to ask her a question, ignoring the weight of his confused gaze. Her jaw clenched tightly when he clasped his hands over hers anxiously. 

“You can come in now,” America called out, placing himself firmly in front of California and her brothers. She held her breath as the door swung open.

She had been expecting the President, perhaps barging in to deliver some awful news. Or maybe it was Uncle Canada, come to tell them that Alaska’s illness had gotten much worse. Or, hell, maybe it was the leader of Russia, waltzing in to say that they had all been bought and were now considered Russian property.

The last thing she had expected was to see _ them _ standing on the other side of the door.

✦ ✦ ✦

** _June 8, 2019 - 2:11 pm_ **

Watching them walk in was a special kind of torture, the kind which America thought he was ready for, but he really, _ really _ wasn’t.

He wasn’t ready for the way his heart pounded against his chest, each beat painfully slow and drawn out, until he could practically count the seconds between one contraction and the next. He wasn’t ready for the way his hands twitched ever so slightly, trembling fingers curling into trembling fists which were quickly shoved into his jeans pockets. He wasn’t ready for the way his lungs constricted, his chest rising and falling faster faster _ faster _, oxygen turning into a jagged shard of glass that ripped through his throat with every intake of breath.

He wasn’t ready, yet here he was. Watching as the fathers of his children came home.

“What_ the fuck _ are you doing here?” New York hissed, his voice nearly breathless with rage, his eyes darkening so drastically that they were a deep maroon red rather than their usual, pale hazel-green. He spat the words in the direction of the nations who had filed into the room, their lips curling into sheepish grins as they offered awkward waves.

America interrupted quickly, letting out a nervous laugh that sounded high and reedy even to his own ears, “They’re just here to visit, Lukie, no big deal!”

“Get. The hell. _ Out _ ,” New York snarled lowly, not hearing his mother’s explanation whatsoever as he took a menacing step forward, his eyes fixated on the men standing behind America. “ _ Get the hell out and don’t you fucking dare come back. _”

America’s throat burned from the effort of holding back tears, his teeth biting down on his tongue so hard that he could taste the metallic tang of blood in his mouth. It took more willpower than he thought he had to step in front of New York, to meet his son’s gaze, to hold his arms out pleadingly and say _ please don’t be angry. _

New York hesitated for a single moment, but it was enough time for California to dart forward and grab his shoulder, yanking him back as she whispered something rapidly into his ear. New York snapped back at her heatedly, never taking his eyes off of the nations, but California was adamant, her blue eyes unyielding. With a last _ tch _ of annoyance, New York bared his teeth once at the cluster of nations before wrenching his gaze away to stare at the floor.

America felt an almost euphoric rush of relief, but the strength of the emotion dulled as the soft murmurs of the men behind him reached his ears. He could only catch snippets of their words, bits and pieces of _ he must be feral _ and _ god, is _ ** _that_ ** _ how America raised them? _ and _ thought he was going to bite my head off _. Anger rose from a place deep inside him at their comments, but he refused to say anything, locking the feeling away to be dealt with later.

America cleared his throat, the muscles of his cheeks protesting as he smiled, “Okay! So, guys, these are four of my kids!” He pointed at each one as he named them off. “The tall one in the back is Texas, the girl is California, the blond boy is New York, and Arizona…” America blinked, his smile fading somewhat as he searched for a head of dark curls.

“Which one of you is my dad?” America whirled around to see Arizona standing next to the nations, so close he had to crane his neck back to look at them, brown eyes searching for a familiar face. (6)

“Arizona!” California hurried to her little brother’s side, her cheeks flushing with mortification, “You can’t just ask things like that,” she scolded, “It’s not very polite, now is it?” She shot an apologetic smile at the nations, one that was a little forced, but America was grateful that she was trying.

“_ No es problema, chica _ ,” Spain replied smoothly, kindly, “ _ Tu hermano es muy lindo, no?” _ He paused for a second, back-tracking, “Oh, sorry, I meant—”

“_ Papá? _ ” Arizona’s face had lit up with an impossibly eager grin when he heard the Spanish roll off of Spain’s tongue, “ _ Eres realmente tú? _” California simply looked on silently, her eyes comically wide and if America had it in him, he would have laughed.

Spain looked absolutely stunned, his mouth opening and closing like he had so much to say, but had no idea where to start. France put an encouraging hand on his shoulder, nudging him forward before exchanging a happy look with Prussia.

The tight knot in America’s chest began to loosen, hope fluttering inside him at the display. Maybe this wouldn’t be a total failure after all—

“Can we leave now, aru?” China grumbled irritably, arms folded primly over his chest, “I just want to see my children and then get out of this _ filthy _ house. Who knows what foolish Western influences they’ve been exposed to here with a _ stupid _ American for a mother—” (7)

Texas moved so fast, all America saw was a blur. He felt a light brush of fabric as his son slid passed him, heard a sharp _ click _ that seemed to echo in his bones more than it echoed within the confines of the room.

He turned around and… 

_ Texas was pressing a gun to China’s head. _

America was speechless, completely and utterly speechless. Any words he tried to summon clumped together and lodged themselves in his throat, his lungs aching with the effort to _ breathe just breathe _.

To his credit, China didn’t flinch, his eyes widening in surprise more than fear. His body was stiff, his spine ramrod straight as his mind processed what was happening. 

The other nations went abruptly silent, their words of congratulations for Spain evaporating off of their tongues. The Italy brothers paled at the expression on Texas’s face, North Italy ducking behind his brother as he let out a whimper of fright. Romano stuck his chin out defiantly, but America could still see him trembling.

“Let’s get somethin’ straight,” Texas muttered, his gaze raking coldly over the assembled nations. Despite how young he was compared to them, they still shuddered at the darkness in his voice. “The _ only _ , and when I _ fucking _ say only y’all better believe I mean _ only _ , reason I’m not blowing all you bastards straight to hell is ‘cuz Ma said not to.” His grip on his gun tightened, his finger applying just the right amount of pressure on the trigger that it didn’t go off, but was damn well close to. China shifted, but froze when Texas pushed the muzzle of the gun forward, the cold metal digging into the skin of the Asian nation’s forehead. “If it were up to me, there’d be no question. I’d just line y’all up and get me some target practice, you hear? But for some reason, Ma don’t wanna see y’all get hurt, and I ain’t about to make him sad,” his accent thickened with his building rage, “But. If any one of y’all makes Ma upset, _ if any one of y’all makes _ ** _my_ ** _ Mama cry in his own damn house _, I swear to fucking God not even Ma will keep me from putting a bullet in each one of yer heads.”

Texas was breathing heavily at this point, his face flushed red with anger. He seemed to be waiting for something though, and didn’t remove the gun until China nodded curtly, eyeing the state with an odd mixture of contempt and respect. Without hesitating, Texas pointed the gun at the rest of the nations, eyes narrowing as they each hastily voiced their agreement to his terms.

America didn’t know what to feel. His chest was a messed up jumble of anxiety and affection and fear and pride and love. All swirling together until he just felt _ sick _. 

“_ Tejas _,” America whispered, not even noticing as the accent slipped through, “It’s okay, baby, it’s okay. Mama’s alright, hon.”

America placed a gentle hand on Texas’s back, feeling the tension in his son’s muscles melting away under his fingers.

“_ Tejas? _ ” Spain asked, brows furrowed in confusion, “That’s _ español _…” His green eyes brightened with realization, “Are you…?” The question went unasked, hesitation and wariness clear in Spain’s voice, but America knew Texas understood. 

The broad-shouldered state turned to growl something at Spain, but he faltered. Texas _ faltered _. For a millisecond, so quickly America thought he might’ve imagined it, uncertainty flashed through Texas’s brown eyes. It was an emotion America had never seen in his son before. Even as a child, he had always been so sure of himself, so confident. Everything he did was done with absolute certainty and faith in his abilities, the kind of faith little boys tend to have when they’re young and think they’re invincible. And yet…America was sure he had seen it, just a flicker of doubt.

Texas’s fists clenched, his lips twitching like he wanted to say something to his father. Like _ hey, dad _ or _ how ya been? _ or _ gee it’s been forever since I last saw you, oh wait I’ve _ ** _never_ ** _ seen you _.

With the way Texas was scanning Spain’s face, looking for _ something _ in the greenness of his eyes and the warmth of his smile, America couldn’t help but wonder if Texas was remembering all the stories. The stories of his father that he used to beg America to tell him while they were camping out in the desert under a sky sprinkled with stars.

And with the way Spain’s gaze was soft and open and _ loving _ , America could tell that he wanted desperately for Texas to say something, _ anything _. Hell, in that moment, America knew that whatever came out of Texas’s mouth, Spain would do. No questions asked.

But America also knew his son. So when Texas’s jaw tightened and he averted his gaze, when he shouldered through the crowd to the door and shrugged off the hand Delaware placed on his shoulder, America was ready. He grabbed Spain’s hand before the older nation could go running after his son…_ their _ son and offered him a reassuring smile.

“He’ll be okay,” America promised, his voice hitching slightly with emotion, “He’s gonna be okay.”

Spain’s eyes searched his, long fingers twining with America’s, “_ Gracias, cariño _.” His lips quirked into a shadow of his usual sunny smile, but America’s cheeks warmed just the same. “Thank you for this.”

America wracked his brain for something suitable to say because _ Spain was leaning closer and his thumbs were rubbing circles into the backs of America’s hands and God everyone was looking at them and— _

New York caught sight of Delaware lingering in the doorway, “Okay, seriously, where the fuck did _ you _ come from?!”

✦ ✦ ✦

** _June 9, 2019 - 1:24 am _ **

America stared into the darkness of the hallway, blue eyes squinting, vision a little fuzzy since he’d decided to leave his glasses on the bedside table. The faint trickles of moonlight seeping in from between his window blinds allowed him to make out the hazy silhouette of a person standing in front of him, their breaths soft and steady, their face barely discernible in the dark.

“You don’t have to turn the light on, Mom,” a voice whispered, “I just need to talk to you real quick.”

“Camila? Is that you?” America replied, the end of his sentence breaking off into a yawn, “The hell are you doing up in the middle of the night?”

California didn’t respond, but America heard a loose floorboard squeak as she shifted her weight. He couldn’t see her, but he could sense her uneasiness in the silence that followed his question, worry and apprehension clear in the way she exhaled loudly, letting out a deep breath as if she was trying to calm herself down.

Gently, America reached out and touched California’s arm as he stepped back into his room, silently telling her to follow, ears pricking as she slipped in and shut the door. She was nothing but a patchwork of light and dark to his sleep-muddled mind, her hair catching the stray moonbeams and glowing a pure, blinding white while shadows collected in the contours of her face.

“Something wrong, Cali?” America murmured, subconsciously lowering his voice. It was unnecessary, he knew, because the nations were asleep in the guest bedrooms on the second floor, but there was something about the darkness that seemed almost _ oppressive _. Like there were sleek, stealthy creatures slinking through the shadows with wide, toothy grins and long, whip-like tails and sharp, bloodstained claws, poised to strike at the first loud noise they heard.

“We texted all the group chats,” California started, tanned fingers gleaming like silver as she fiddled with the end of her ponytail, “Everyone knows. About the nations, I mean. They’ll start arriving in groups pretty soon.” Her lips quirked up in a faint smile. “Uncle Canada’s bringing Alaska in a few days, and I think he’s picking up Washington and the Dakotas on the way. He said the little tyke’s excited to see you again. Alaska must have really missed his Mama.”

America let out a short, breathy laugh, his heart warming at the thought of seeing his youngest state again. It had only been a couple of weeks, but he desperately needed to see his son, needed to card his fingers through Alaska’s soft, silvery hair and press gentle kisses to his pale-pink cheeks and cradle his tiny body close to his chest. 

But underneath the brief swell of happiness was the sharp, nagging feeling that California still hadn’t said what she needed to say.

“That’s really great, Cali,” America replied, his tone laced with sincerity, “But why are you really here, honey?”

California hesitated, her blue eyes luminous in the dark, “...Oregon’s meeting me in Honolulu on Wednesday. We’ll be getting Hawaii and coming back by the next day.”

For a single, blissful moment, America was confused as to why his daughter would wake him up in the middle of the night just to tell him that. 

“I don’t—”

Slowly, like the crest of a wave rising and falling, the realization washed over him, his voice dying as the puzzle pieces snapped into place, showing him a picture of what was going to happen in a handful of days.

_ Hawaii burst through the front doors of the house, her eyes sparkling with excitement, her bright yellow skirt swishing as she darted down the hallway. In the background, Oregon was calling out to her to slow down, to wait before she went charging into the living room, but Hawaii brushed off her older sister’s pleas. Wait? What for?! Her Daddy was finally here! Her Daddy had finally, _ ** _finally_ ** _ come to meet her! She had waited her whole entire life for this day, she wasn’t going to slow down now! Not when she was so close! Hawaii took a shuddering breath as she reached for the door handle, her hands trembling with a mixture of nerves and longing. For a long moment, she hesitated, a countless number of “what-if”s swirling through her mind. But then she thought about what was waiting behind this door, _ ** _who_ ** _ was waiting behind this door. And it gave her enough strength to turn the handle, her face breaking out into a dazzling grin as she finally laid eyes on her fa— _

America shook his head, his chest squeezing painfully at what he knew would happen next. 

It frightened him, really. It frightened him how vividly he could picture Hawaii’s smile slipping off of her face, her jaw quivering with despair, her eyes screaming denial.

“I know you wanted more time,” California mumbled, her voice hushed and urgent, “But she called me right before bed and insisted that she come right away! I-I know it’s the middle of the night, and I know this could have waited for tomorrow, but I couldn’t sleep and I didn’t know how to tell you…” She trailed off miserably, fiddling with the hem of her shirt with a broken-hearted look on her sweet face. “God, what are we going to do when she finds out that…?” (8)

America grimaced at the unspoken question, foreboding crackling in the air like lightning in the midst of a thunderstorm. 

“You let me worry about that,” America said finally, stepping forward to cup California’s cheek comfortingly, pulling her closer to press a kiss against her forehead, “It’s going to work out in the end.”

“But…” California pressed her face into America’s shoulder, her voice slightly muffled. “How do you know for sure?”

America paused, considering, “We’re family,” he replied slowly, voice strong even as treacherous doubt wheedled its way under his skin, “As long as we’re together, we’ll get through this…” 

_ We just have to. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just so you guys know, you can also come find me on my Tumblr: starfirexl!!! You can follow me, send me asks, or just drop in to say hello! I’d love to hear from each and every one of you, it would really make my day 💖💖💖
> 
> Oh, I just realized after finishing this chapter that Spain had to meet 3 of his kids at once...oops? Well, he’ll be ok 😉
> 
> (1) I’m referring to the Gold Rush in 1849. This was the year California was born, so imagine coming into the world and having all these people killing your wildlife (like Grizzly bears), cutting down your trees, and scouring all your land looking for gold.
> 
> (2) Florida entered the Union as a Slave State (in this fic, Florida is one of the states who was born BEFORE she became an official state because Spain colonized Florida way before it became a state) while California entered the Union as a Free State. This little scene was not meant to offend ANYONE, it’s just a simple take on what was happening at the time. Florida was a Slave State and that’s just history, it has nothing to do with how the state is in the present. (Love all the people in Florida 💖)
> 
> (3) Texas is California’s older brother. He was born in the 1820s when the first Americans settled in Texas (at this point Texas was technically still under Mexican rule. But he’s not Mexico’s child, he’s Spain’s son - didn’t wanna introduce TOO many relationships haha). He was just a little kid, maybe 5, when the Texas Revolution occurred in 1835, but he grew VERY quickly. So, by the time the Civil War started in 1861 he was about 14-15. He was big and really strong for his age, so ofc he wanted to participate in the war. I see his secession as more of him wanting to prove himself to his older Southern siblings than him hating the Northern States/America. 
> 
> (4) For those of you who don’t know poker (like me lol) a royal flush is pretty much the best hand you can get. It beats everything else (according to google, I’ve never played poker so I wouldn’t know).
> 
> (5) Ok so, Arizona was born in the late 1800s/early 1900s, like 1899 or 1900, very shortly after the Spanish-American War (I’ll leave you guys to imagine what happened during the peace negotiations 😉). So, he technically did live through both world wars. But the key difference here is that the 2 world wars were FAR AWAY from the US mainland, while the other three wars I mentioned were either fought on US soil (more or less) or pretty close to US soil (Spanish-American War was partially fought in Cuba, so that’s pretty close). And ofc, he wasn’t there for the Civil War unlike the three older states.
> 
> (6) Arizona hasn’t ever met Spain, but I imagine America has told him what Spain looks like, so that’s who he’s looking for. Whoever matches the description must be his daddy right?
> 
> (7) ONCE AGAIN: this wasn’t meant to insult anyone!!! If you’re a little frustrated by the fact that it was China who was mean to America, I’m really sorry but he was the one that this dialogue seemed to fit best. I agree that China is a good person, but he does have a few strong prejudices, and his story-line in this fic will largely revolve around getting over those prejudices (especially the ones directed towards America). Hint - one of his kids is gonna have trouble getting passed some of his more traditional views. China will get there eventually tho!
> 
> (8) Just an FYI, most of the older states know the fathers of the younger states. In fact, you can probably assume that if a state is older than another state, they most likely knew the younger state’s father before the younger state did. It’s something that happened naturally. The States were aware of America’s numerous relationships, who he was with at each time, so every time he got pregnant, they had a good idea of who the father was. (But ofc it was an important rule to never tell the younger states who their dad was before America did, and no one has ever broken that rule).
> 
> Translations:
> 
> Spanish ~
> 
> No es problema, chica. Tu hermano es muy lindo, no? = It’s no problem. Your brother is very cute, no?
> 
> Papá? Eres realmente tú? = Dad? Is it really you?
> 
> Tejas = Texas 
> 
> Gracias, cariño. = Thank you, darling.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ok um....so this has been weighing heavily on me for a while, so I'm just gonna come out and say it. 
> 
> I. AM. SO. SORRY!!!!
> 
> I just djnkjdncks I don't even know what to say. It's been 5 months, 5 WHOLE MONTHS since I last updated and I am SO SORRY I left you guys hanging for almost half a year! I've been getting such sweet, understanding comments from y'all about how I should "take my time" and how you guys "love this story" and are "willing to wait" and I just wanted to cRY??? I swear, WHAT THE HECK DID I EVER DO TO DESERVE READERS LIKE YOU??? People like all of you are what truly inspire and motivate fanfic authors, and it's my sincerest wish that all the wonderful writers out there have readers who are as encouraging and supportive as y'all are. If I'm being honest, distance learning has been tough on me time-wise, I've been so caught up in doing homework and turning in assignments that I found myself neglecting all my fics, and it really demoralized me. But whenever I get discouraged I just read some of the amazing comments you guys have sent me and it helps me find the motivation to set aside some time to start writing again!
> 
> So, anyway, I just want all of you to know that I appreciate you so much, and that your love of this fic and of my writing is something I will always cherish <333
> 
> Ok, now about this chapter: I already established that pretty much every chapter will be centered around a specific nation. This time it's....(drumroll please).....
> 
> SPAIN! 
> 
> I know most of you probably aren't here for the SpAmerica, but this ship is the one that made the most sense for this chapter, so I hope you enjoy it anyway! The chapter itself is a little on the long side since I had a LOT of ideas I wanted to put in here, and it's more like a filler-chapter haha. I just wanted to explore a few characters’ personalities, their unique quirks, and the dynamics between them and other characters, and this is the product of that! I really don't know if it's as good as the other chapters, so I'm depending on all of you to tell me if there are any mistakes and stuff, or if it's just...terrible or something. I ALWAYS LOVE ANY AND ALL COMMENTS YOU GUYS SEND AND I’LL TRY MY BEST TO RESPOND TO THEM ALL!!! And for all you GerAme (my OTP), PruAme, RusAme, NedAme etc. shippers out there, sit tight! Your ship will get its turn in the spotlight!
> 
> States' Names Mentioned ~
> 
> Arizona - Miguel (And a word about Arizona. I think last chapter I talked about the circumstances of his birth? yeah, ignore that I'm changing it. Arizona's old backstory is now New Mexico's backstory and Arizona is now going to be born in 1912 which is the year the actual state entered the Union. I did warn you that this fic is a little chaotic and disorganized didn't I? So we good? Good!)

**Flashback ~**

** _February 22, 1819 (1) _ **

_ The first time Spain fell in love, it was to the sound of violin music. _

_ He remembered snippets of that day so clearly, though all the moments in between had blurred and faded with every year that passed, becoming a hazy, unfocused jumble of soft laughter and fine wine. _

_ He remembered the delicate sweetness of cinnamon and sugar on his tongue, the way his teeth broke through layers of golden pastry, flaky crumbs spilling from between his fingers and littering the rich wool carpet below. Hands reached out, gently cupping his chin, a thumb brushing over his lips as it wiped the stray crumbs from his skin and lingered at the corner of his mouth. Green eyes riveted to dark violet as he turned his head slowly to press a chaste kiss to the elegant palm. _

_ He remembered the sparkle of sunlight glinting against metal and _ ** _cristallo_ ** _ (2), the way the rosy rays of dawn threaded through hair dark as night, dancing across the rim of circular glasses before creeping over smooth expanses of pale skin. Perfectly pink lips curled into an amused smile as one eyebrow quirked upwards with a vague air of arrogance and superiority. Flickers of anger mixed with a strange fondness welled up inside him at the sight, chest aching at the effort it took to rip his gaze away. _

_ He remembered the lilting melody wafting through the evening air, soft as a sigh, each note as beautiful and precious as a star, sounding as if they were plucked from the night sky and shaped to form constellations of the musician’s own design. Long, slender fingers curled expertly around a violin bow, movements swift and graceful. Dark lashes framed closed eyes, angular jaw tucked neatly against sleek ebony wood. The song rose and fell just as waves ebbed and flowed, some notes sharp and bitter, others drawn out and honey-sweet, his entire body powerless before the beauty of the music and the musician. And when those violet eyes opened, when their gazes clashed and warred and held, there it was. That nameless feeling bubbling up from deep inside of him. It was...it was… _

_ It was lo— _

_ “ANTONIO!” _

_ Spain’s eyes flew open, his hands instinctively tightening around the guitar in his lap, his body jolting upwards from its reclined position against a tree. For a brief moment, as he squinted up at the silhouette leaning over him, backlit by the sun with a single strand of hair curling upwards from the top of its head, Spain thought the whisper-thin remnants of his memories had somehow sprung to life. _

_ “ _ ** _Austria_ ** _ ?” He breathed, the name rolling off his tongue instinctively, with a soft sort of familiarity not unknown to nations. Well, the lucky ones anyway. _

_ The silhouette laughed, flopping down gracelessly next to him, revealing honey-blond hair and bluebell eyes. “No, it’s _ ** _America_ ** _ , silly,” the young nation pouted playfully, batting his lashes with mock hurt, “Am I so easily forgotten?” _

_ “Oh no, no, of course not,” Spain recovered smoothly, a charming grin following his words, “I was just a bit distracted, _ ** _cariño_ ** _ . Nothing to worry about.” _

_ America tilted his head, eyeing Spain with teasing skepticism, “Are you sure? I called out to you from the porch, but it seemed like you couldn’t hear me at all,” he scooted closer to lay his cheek against Spain’s shoulder, his knees brushing the older nation’s thigh as he curled into Spain’s side, “You were much too busy playing your guitar.” _

_ Spain faltered at that, brows furrowed in confusion, “What? I wasn’t playing anything—” _

_ “Sure you were,” America interrupted, reaching forward to idly pluck at a few guitar strings, “Your eyes were closed, but you were playing this wonderful song like your hands had a mind of their own! It was rather lovely...” America trailed off, starting to hum the tune as if to prove he had heard it, and Spain’s heart stuttered at the centuries-old melody stumbling from the young nation’s lips. _

_ It was hard to make out, what with America adding in odd, extra notes and being slightly off pitch, but there was no doubt in Spain's mind. It was _ ** _the_ ** _ song. _ ** _Their song_ ** _ . His and Austria’s. The one that had him falling in love on that chilly February night, the stars glimmering as brightly as the jewels on his King’s—no, his _ ** _Emperor’s_ ** _ —head (3). The one that was so deeply ingrained into all his memories of the time he spent with Austria, laughing and kissing and screaming and fighting. The one that had perpetually played in the back of Spain’s mind since the day they had parted, haunting him, _ ** _reminding him _ ** _ of what he had lost. _

_ The one that he had promised he’d never forget. _

_ America’s hair tickled his cheek, the feeling soft and feather-light against his skin, shocking Spain out of his stupor. The blond shifted to prop his chin up on Spain’s shoulder, gaze pleading, “I really liked it a lot. Could you play it again for me? Pleeeeeaaaaase?” _

_ Spain couldn’t help melting a little at the request, so adorably innocent that it stirred a deep warmth in his chest, a painfully familiar kind of affection that left him breathless and aching. _

_ “I have a better idea,” Spain murmured, placing the guitar on the ground beside him as his arms wrapped around America’s waist, lifting the younger nation into the space between his legs, his chest pressed flush against America’s back. He settled the instrument onto the blond’s lap, taking the opportunity to lean forward and sneak a quick kiss to his temple, delighting in the way America blushed. “Why don’t I teach it to you? That way you won’t forget it, even centuries from now.” _

_ America snorted in disbelief, though his hands still settled onto the instrument in an awkward attempt to mimic how he’d seen Spain position his fingers, “Centuries? That’s an awfully long time. I don’t think anyone can remember something for that long!” _

_ Spain chuckled under his breath, his hands gently adjusting America’s grip, “I’m not surprised that you believe that. You’re how old? One century? Two? Honestly, America, this song is older than you are!” He smirked against America’s shoulder when the younger nation huffed in annoyance, “Trust me, _ ** _cariño_ ** _, I learnt this song three centuries ago, and I still play it excellently! Aus—” Spain winced at the slip-up, his voice noticeably quieter, “...an old friend taught it to me.”_

_ America spared him a quick look, expression unreadable, “Austria taught it to you,” he said bluntly, shifting in the circle of Spain’s arms, “From the way you speak of him, I assume you were...close?” _

_ Spain almost laughed at the question, his lips quirking up into a dry smile. _

** _‘Close’ he says…_ **

_‘Close’ didn’t even begin_ _to describe it. _

_ America blinked up at him, clearly expecting an answer, but Spain was unsure of how to respond. How could he ever explain how much Austria had meant to him? How could he ever describe how closely they had been intertwined, both as nations and as people? How could he ever hope to make such a young, inexperienced personification understand that nations can truly fall in love _ ** _once_ ** _ and only _ ** _once_ ** _ , and when they lose that love… _

_ It will never come back. _ ** _Never_ ** _ . Not for anything, or for anyone. _

_ At least, that’s what history dictated… _

_ “We were...partners once, many years ago,” Spain finally said, and he hoped the natural cheerfulness of his voice masked the sadness of his tone, “Married, I suppose you could say. For nearly two centuries. We were bound together when my King ascended the highest throne in the land (4).” Spain tipped his head back against the rough bark, eyes closing as he reminisced. “When we were first told of the arrangement several years before, we despised each other. That’s what happens when you’re told you’re to be forced into a marriage with a distant acquaintance.” Spain let out a huff of laughter as he felt America tuck himself under his chin, ignoring how the action caused a soft flicker of contentment to flare up in his chest, “But the years passed, things changed, and we fell in love the night of the coronation. I still remember that night, 289 years ago. 22nd February, 1530.” _

_ He opened one eye when he heard a soft gasp, snorting in amusement at America’s awestruck face. _

_ “22nd February?” America tugged insistently at Spain’s collar, “But that’s today, is it not?” _

_ Spain thought for a moment before a bittersweet smile spread across his face, “Ah, yes it is. I suppose that would make today our anniversary. I wonder if he even remembers—” _

_ “Of course he does!” _

_ Spain raised an eyebrow at America’s outburst, his hands instinctively sliding up and down to rub comfortingly against the blond’s sides, confused as to why he seemed so upset all of a sudden. _

_ “I-I mean,” America flushed in embarrassment as he rubbed the back of his neck, refusing to meet Spain’s questioning gaze, “H-He obviously meant...quite a lot to you! And you wouldn’t…you wouldn’t have fallen in love...w-with someone who wasn’t…unless...” America gesticulated wildly and Spain felt that same warmth from earlier spreading through his body, a combination of mirth and something else...something stronger… _

_ America inhaled deeply, his hands clamping firmly onto Spain’s shoulders, moving onto his knees so that he could look the other man straight in the eye, “ _ ** _If you truly loved him, that must mean he’s a good man, so he would never have forgotten!_ ** _ ” _

_ America was looking at him, blue eyes wide and earnest and sparkling with sunshine, his mouth set in a firm, serious line that looked utterly ridiculous on his sweet face. And for a heartbeat, Spain could almost see the shadow of Austria on his features, in the crease between his brows and in the stubborn tilt of his jaw. _

_ But as quickly as it came, the shadow vanished and Spain was left blinking at the blond-haired man, slack-jawed with disbelief. He didn’t think he’d ever heard something so wonderfully naïve. Stated so plainly, yet with a sincerity and faith that only small children could ever enjoy. It was so childish, so _ ** _unlike_ ** _ -Austria, that Spain physically jolted when he felt those tender feelings wrapping around his heart. Similar, yet different to that night nearly three centuries ago. A curious mixture of nostalgia, elation, longing and...and… _

_ Love. It was love. As impossible as it seemed, there was no mistaking it. And yet… _

_ Austria had never made him feel quite like this. _

_ “So, thank you,” America said abruptly, sitting back on his heels and crossing his arms over his chest in a half-successful attempt at being authoritative, “But I must decline your offer to teach me that song you were playing. That song is yours and Austria’s. Not mine. I’m certain that it’s special to you both, and so it shall remain that way.” _

_ Spain could only gape in something akin to awe as America turned back around and plopped himself back into the older nation’s lap. _

_ “I don’t think you understand how adorable you are,” Spain mumbled, the words spilling out of his mouth before his mind could catch up, “ _ ** _Mi corazón, no sabes lo que me haces._ ** _ ” _

_ It was obvious to him that America didn’t understand what he had said, but the blond still blushed, ducking his head almost shyly as if he was trying to hide from Spain. But the older nation wouldn’t let him get away so easily, his green eyes alight with affection as his arms once again securely wrapped around America’s waist, his face nuzzling into the other’s hair, “I didn’t know you could be so shy, _ ** _mi amor_ ** _ . But I cannot say I don’t enjoy it~” _

_ America scrunched up his nose even as the tips of his ears burned a startling crimson, face twisting in concentration. “ _ ** _Mi amor_ ** _ ,” he repeated, pronouncing the words slowly, and Spain would be lying if he said it didn’t send a slight shiver up his spine, “I believe I’ve heard those words before, when I was visiting the Florida colony, but I don’t remember what they mean…” America cut himself off, his back straightening as if he had just been reminded of something important. “Damn, I can’t believe I forgot! The Florida colony!” _

_ “What—” _

_ “The treaty!” America squealed joyously, scrambling to face Spain, his legs hooking around the green-eyed nation’s waist as his arms pulled the other into a tight hug, “Now I remember! I came outside to fetch you and give you the news, but I must have gotten distracted by your music. Mr. Adams just sent word that he and your minister have signed the treaty! Florida is officially mine now!” _

_ Spain’s eyes widened in realization as America continued to ramble on in excitement, his hands tightening their hold on the blond’s waist. Ah yes, of course, he remembered the negotiations well. Today was the day their leaders were scheduled to sign the treaty that would pass Spain’s North American colony on to America. And it seemed that the proceedings had gone smoothly. So that meant... _

_ Spain’s smile sharpened considerably as he came to his conclusion, a touch of heat flaring up in his green eyes. His skin seemed to tingle in all the places that he and America were pressed together, his heart fluttering in his chest erratically, pounding so hard it was a wonder that the younger nation hadn’t felt it beating against him. Almost subconsciously, his thumbs began to trace slow circles against America’s hips, suddenly thankful that the blond had initiated such close physical contact. But just as Spain’s hands started to slide down the gentle curve of America’s waist, his darkened gaze locked with bright, dazzling blue, and he couldn’t bring himself to go further. Not when America was smiling at him so sweetly, talking animatedly about “visiting my new citizens” and “catching baby alligators in the swamplands” and “building an enormous house on a cliff overlooking the beach that’s much better than the one England has.” _

_ Spain’s eyes softened, his twitching fingers settling into the little nook where America’s legs connected to his torso, pulling back so that he could properly hear all the things the young nation was so excited about. _

_ And that’s how he knew that what he felt for Austria and what he felt now were two different things. Because this hesitation, this willingness to _ ** _wait_ ** _ , this contentment that he found just basking in America’s presence—breathing in his sweet summer scent and brushing his hands against his sun-kissed skin—it was not something he had ever had with the raven-haired man. _

_ With Austria, it had been an insatiable kind of love. A crackling, exhilarating, adrenaline-filled rush of _ ** _more more more I want more_ ** _ — _

_ But this. This was the sun-drunk warmth of something new. _

_ “I have an idea,” Spain said, interrupting the new tangent America had taken about the superior quality of his beaches and how horrid the weather in England got in the winter months, “You say you refuse to learn the song Austria taught me all those years ago, but what if…” his smile grew at the _ ** _adorable_ ** _ way America’s head tilted in interest, “What if we make a new song together? One that’s just for us?” _

_ “Really?!” America gasped, eyes shining so brightly Spain almost had to look away, “You would do that for me?! You swear it?! Then we should get started right away, it’ll be the greatest song in the history of—” he deflated as a thought seemed to occur to him, “Wait, but I know nothing of music…” _

_ Spain laughed, his hand coming up to ruffle America’s hair fondly, “Don’t look so sad! You are more charming when you have a smile on your face, no?” He quickly untangled their limbs, moving back into their previous position with America pulled flush against his chest and the guitar settled snugly on the blond’s lap. “I’ll just have to teach you! It is not so hard, I’m sure you’ll learn quickly. Besides,” Spain grabbed America’s hands, pressing a gentle kiss to each one before guiding them to their appropriate places. “you have long fingers. Good for playing instruments!” _

_ America swallowed thickly, the blush on his cheeks eliciting a pleased hum from Spain. Perhaps he’d see how many times he could coax that pretty color onto America’s face. It was sure to be a harmless little game. But also enjoyable. _ ** _Very_ ** _ enjoyable. For Spain, and maybe…for America too. _

_ Spain shook his head lightly, casting those thoughts aside for the time being, focusing on arranging America’s fingers to play a G-chord and savoring the sweet little giggle that closely followed the familiar, melodic strum. Maybe instead of games he should turn his attention towards more important matters, like determining which sound was more musical, the guitar or America’s laughter… _

_ Spain’s mind stuttered to a halt, his breath hitching, a jolt of electricity sparking in his chest as America turned his head, his lips brushing a kiss against the underside of Spain’s jaw. He looked down in half-confusion half-anticipation as America gazed up at him, blue eyes twinkling, “I suppose I should thank you for not going further, Spain,” America murmured, and the atmosphere surrounding them changed in an instant, becoming charged and noticeably thicker, “It would have been terribly disrespectful to form a union with another nation on such an important day, don't you think?” _

_ Spain could only blink, thrown off-balance at this new side of America, his tongue growing heavy and sluggish, “...Pardon?” _

_ America flashed him a smile laced with sweetness and not-so-innocent promise, “I am aware of how our kind...ratifies treaties, _ ** _Antonio_ ** _ ,” Spain gulped at the blatantly flirtatious lilt to his voice, faintly wondering if this was the same boy who had been speaking of baby alligators just a moment ago, “And I just wanted to say that I would love to ratify ours tomorrow...if you would be agreeable to it?” _

_ Spain could barely recognize his own voice when he answered, reduced to a deep, husky rumble that he hadn’t heard since the 1700s, “I...I have no objections…” _

_ The tense, heavy heat that had been settling around them broke as America hit the wrong note, wringing a terrible, clashing sound from the guitar, “Damn, I thought I got it that time!” _

_ Spain tipped his head back to laugh as America pouted down at the instrument, wheezing when the blond not-so-gently elbowed him in the stomach. _

_ “You have almost perfected it, you just require more practice,” Spain reassured, winking when America glanced over his shoulder, “I suppose I must stay for a week or two and properly teach you! How can you possibly learn without a tutor?” _

_ America nodded solemnly, his brows furrowed in mock panic, his hands cupping his face to add a dramatic flair, “Of course, it’s of the greatest importance! You have no choice but to stay! You must write to your minister and explain the urgency of the matter immediately!” _

_ Spain buried his face into America’s neck, smiling as he felt the blond’s shoulders shaking with laughter, his eyes closing so that he could absorb every detail of this moment. _

_ The warmth of the sun and America’s skin. The fresh, crisp scent of emerging spring and his golden hair. The rustling melody of the wind in the trees and long fingers dancing over the guitar strings. _

_ Every. Last. Detail. _

_ “I don’t think I’ve ever been this happy, _ ** _mi amor_ ** _ . You make me feel things I thought I wasn’t capable of anymore…” _

✦ ✦ ✦

** _June 12, 2019 _ **

Fatherhood was _ everything _ Spain wanted it to be.

Fatherhood was long hours spent sprawled across the fluffy blue rug in Arizona’s room, surrounded by meticulously constructed LEGO cities and messy stacks of comic books. It was Arizona’s hushed laughter floating through the air as he quickly flipped the lights off and flopped down spread-eagle beside Spain, excitedly pointing up at the glow-in-the-dark sticker stars on his ceiling and rambling on about how he had spent a whole week getting them in _ just _ the right spots so they’d form his favorite constellations. And Spain had smiled, knowing that his son had his very own piece of the night sky hanging over his head every time he fell asleep.

Fatherhood was the satisfying sizzling sound of dough frying, Spain’s hands anxious and hovering as he watched Arizona carefully poke at the crisp, golden brown churros with a set of tongs. It was the air rushing out of his lungs when a bit of hot oil splashed against the little boy’s skin, the feeling of cold water running over his fingers where he gripped Arizona’s wrist a little too tightly, his chest squeezing at the sight of the bright red mark on the back of his son’s hand. It was the urgency he felt when he turned around to gauge whether the little boy was in any pain, only to see Arizona’s mouth covered in cinnamon and sugar, his wide brown eyes batting innocently up at him. And Spain had laughed, thinking about how lucky he was to have this wonderful boy as his son.

Fatherhood was watching little fingers expertly pick at old guitar strings, Arizona’s brows furrowing in concentration, the tip of his tongue sticking out of the corner of his mouth as he paid close attention to the notes and the smooth movement of his hand sliding up and down the guitar’s neck. It was Spain’s green gaze shining with a dazzling mixture of awe and elation, his lips stretching into a wide, blinding grin as he listened to the music. It was the warmth he felt when his son looked up at him, the sunshine making a soft halo around his head, his face practically glowing at the praise Spain piled on him, his eyes sparkling with nothing short of pure adoration. And Spain had sighed contentedly, wondering when America had decided to teach their son the song they had written together all those years ago.

Ah yes, the last three days had been a blissful experience. One that felt as natural as the salty spray of the sea against his skin. The falling sensation that he had experienced when he first learned of this..._ situation _ , the one that made him feel like he was weightless and hurtling through empty expanses of deep space to _ Lord-knows-where _, was gone in an instant after meeting his son. He fell and fell and fell and fell, only to land easily and fluidly into this new role of his, and not even God’s wrath could convince him to give it up.

** _But_ ** _ . And there always was a ‘but’... _

_ But _ , Arizona was too naive, too innocent, too _ young _ to know better.

_ But _ , he had other children, older children, _ wiser _ children.

_ But _ , fatherhood was also everything he _ didn’t _ want it to be. 

Fatherhood was the acidic taste of anxiety on his tongue, an uncharacteristic nervousness bubbling up inside of him whenever he thought about the three children he _ hadn’t _ met yet. The three children who may or may not _ despise _ him like Delaware so clearly did England.

Fatherhood was the tightness in California’s smile whenever her eyes flitted over to him, her lips pulling taut at the edges, morphing her grin from sweet and sunny, to polite and vaguely pained. She nodded to him every time, but it was like she was greeting a stranger, and Spain loathed to acknowledge the part of himself that kept reminding him that the truth was not so far off.

Fatherhood was the blankness in Texas’s eyes when he looked at him, his gaze detached and aloof as he brushed passed Spain every time the nation walked into a room. He hadn’t known the state for very long, but Spain could still tell that it was unnatural for him to be so quiet, disappearing in and out of rooms like a ghost fleeing a powerful talisman. And if the deep, pulsing ache in his chest was anything to go by, Spain had a very good idea of the supposed “talisman” Texas was avoiding.

All those emotions, those sick, dreadful feelings of uncertainty for the future and frustration with the present and guilt for the past grew and grew, constantly feeding the ever-swirling storm of hopelessness inside him until he had half a mind to just give in and accept defeat.

** _But_ ** _ . And there it was again that fickle little word… _

But, Spain now knew what it was like to be a father. Arizona had shown that to him, had been his safe, sturdy little port in the midst of the raging storm. His son had developed such a close bond with him already, one that gave him a sense of happiness and fulfillment and _ peace _ that he couldn’t live without. And Spain wanted that with _ all _of his children. All of them. 

Now, Spain wasn’t a _ complete _ idiot—though he knew Romano would beg to differ—he was aware that these things took time. He couldn’t just waltz into their lives and expect to be welcomed with open arms. But, if he could reach out to at least _ one _ of his older children, then perhaps they could help him convince the others to give him a chance. 

Which was how Spain found himself standing outside California’s door for the fifth time in the past 24 hours. 

In all respects, California was the perfect option. Though, she was also the _ only _ option. America hadn’t yet specified when Spain would be able to meet his three mystery children, and _ God knows _when Texas would feel comfortable enough to be in the same room as Spain for more than a minute, let alone when he’d be able to hold a decent conversation with him. But California, at the very least, always humored him with small talk, and the warm smiles she sent his way whenever he swung a giggling Arizona up and onto his shoulders were not lost on him.

And yet, Spain still sighed as he stared at California’s closed door, his brows furrowing with indecision, his teeth worrying away at his bottom lip, his fist raising to knock, before lowering, then raising again. His legs twitched, partly in agitation, partly in discomfort, and he was pretty sure his foot had fallen asleep, but he couldn’t walk around to shake off the pins and needles because the _ last time _ he had paced up and down the hallway, California had actually _ opened the door _and he had had to duck behind a potted plant to avoid detection. But, no, not this time. This time he was at least going to knock before hiding, damn it!

_ Dios, dame fuerzas… _

Spain rapped his knuckles sharply against the door, pushing down thoughts of _ wait, fuck, was that knock too loud _ as he called out for his daughter, “ _ California? Estás despierta, mija? _ ” He paused, but there was no response. “ _ Califor— _”

“She’s not in there.”

Spain jolted at the voice, letting out a high-pitched yelp as he whirled around and pressed himself against the door, arms spread wide as if to bar any threat from entering California’s room. His gaze flickered around wildly before it locked onto Delaware, who was leaning against the wall with his hands in his pockets, a thoroughly unimpressed look on his face.

“_ Dios mio _, Delaware,” Spain wheezed, slumping against the door, “What are you doing sneaking around like that?!”

The blond state frowned, “It’s my house, I can do what I want.”

A tense, awkward moment passed between them after that, and Spain bit back a curse as he frantically grasped for something to say. Of all the states, why did it have to be _ Delaware _ who found him? The green-eyed boy unnerved him more than anything else ever had, at least in his recent history. There was just something about him, a sharpness in his eyes that reminded Spain so starkly of England, that it was right on the tip of his tongue to scream _ “No, my Armada!” _ and make a _ “tactical retreat” _ down the hall and into a shelter of some sort. Preferably one that was pirate-proof. 

Eventually, Spain couldn’t take it anymore, waving his hand in a vague gesture as if to physically break the silence, “Right...so...how do you know—”

“That California’s out?” Delaware cocked one bushy eyebrow, rolling his eyes as if the answer should be obvious, “I’m the oldest of _ fifty _ kids. I was _ there _ when every single one of my little brothers and sisters was born. You think my mom can keep track of 49 dumbass children on his own? Well, maybe 48, Virginia’s not so bad.” The boy blew out a tired sigh, the kind only older siblings could perfect. “I had to step up and be the big brother, you know? I keep tabs on all of my siblings. It helps my mom, and that's good enough a reason to do it. So yeah, I _ know _California left last night to pick up Hawaii.”

Spain’s brows shot up in surprise, half because this was the most he’d ever heard the state speak, and half because it was strangely touching...in an obsessive, controlling, slightly creepy kind of way. Spain laughed nervously, running a hand through his dark hair, “You are a good son, Delaware.”

Delaware scowled, averting his eyes from Spain, “I don’t need your validation.” But it didn’t escape Spain’s notice that he looked mildly pleased at the praise. 

“So uh…” Spain shifted his weight as he scratched the back of his neck, “Do you know when she is coming back, by chance?”

“Today, probably in a couple hours, tops (5),” Delaware replied, before pushing off the wall and jerking his chin towards the end of the hall, “In the meantime, Mom says breakfast’s ready. If you want it, that is.”

Spain couldn’t nod fast enough, hoping he didn’t look as relieved as he felt as he took the opportunity to end the, frankly uncomfortable, conversation. But his relief was dulled somewhat at the sound of the blond-haired boy’s footsteps padding down the stairs after him, and he wondered if Delaware mistrusted him so much that he didn’t think he could make it to the kitchen without breaking something.

Spain snapped out of his thoughts when he heard a muffled crash, the heavy thump of flesh against a hard surface, and raised voices shouting so loudly he could almost make out the words from halfway up the staircase.

Oh...maybe _ that _was why Delaware was coming with him. 

Said state suddenly pushed passed him, grumbling under his breath as he scrambled down the rest of the stairs, Spain following quickly behind. He was only able to hear the tail-end of the argument, recognizing Prussia’s raspy morning voice and England’s shrill screams, catching bits and pieces of _ “fuck you and fuck your tea, England, let’s have beer for breakfast!” _ and _ “you bloody idiot, you can’t have that as a breakfast item!” _ before Delaware burst through the entryway, effectively ending the nations’ shouting match. Spain peeked over the state’s shoulder, his lips twitching with both laughter and concern at the sight of England strangling France on the floor beside a knocked-over barstool while simultaneously arguing with Prussia. Neither nation seemed to care about France’s weak protests of _ “I didn’t even say anything why are you choking _ ** _me_ ** _ ?” _

“Are you two completely _ insane _ ?” Delaware hissed, his hands tightly curled into fists, and Spain was _ so very glad _ he was standing behind him, out of the way of that piercing glare, “There are still people trying to _ fucking sleep _!”

“That’s what I tried to tell him!” England protested, releasing France to point accusingly at Prussia, “But he wouldn’t list—”

“Oh fuck off, old man,” Delaware snarled, “They could probably hear _ you _ from two floors up.” England’s jaw snapped shut at his words and Spain wasn’t sure if he should feel amusement or pity.

He elected to feel neither, choosing instead to focus on the _ heavenly _ aroma of freshly made pancakes wafting through the sunlit room, the warm, buttery scent making his mouth water and his stomach clench painfully. He caught a flash of movement from the corner of his eye and turned to watch fondly as America bustled about the kitchen, his golden hair still ruffled with sleep, his skin faintly glowing in the early morning light, his hips swaying to an unknown melody. It was like he was in a world of his own, delightfully unaware of the tension building just behind him, and Spain would gladly stand there and act like some sort of shield if only to preserve that peaceful little universe of his. 

Spain turned his head to catch Prussia’s gaze from across the room, watching as red eyes momentarily flitted over to the blond-haired nation, before softening and returning to Spain. An understanding passed between them, and Prussia’s stiff posture and tense shoulders relaxed as he sidled up to the breakfast bar, sliding onto a barstool and leaning forward onto his elbows as America started to plate the pancakes. 

“I still think beer pairs _ excellently _ with pancakes,” Prussia said loudly, with a distinctly less amount of bite to his words, graciously ignoring England’s sharp jab of _ “you’re not a bloody culinary connoisseur!” _

“If West was here, he’d agree with me…” 

“Oh, well, tough luck,” America teased, tossing an easy smile over his shoulder, “Germany went out for a run an hour ago. He dragged Japan and Italy with him and Romano went along because Italy threatened to eat potatoes if he didn’t,” America snorted with laughter, “Italy making threats, that was something new.”

“He learned from the best,” Prussia said smugly, his red eyes gleaming with satisfaction, “And by the best, I mean the awesome _ me _, of course—”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” America interrupted, ignoring Prussia’s petulant pout, “Look, if you guys are done beating the shit outta each other,” he looked pointedly at where England was still crouched over France, and Spain had to stifle a laugh at how quickly the other nation jumped to his feet, “I bring you, my awesome guests, _ slices-of-heaven-on-a-platter-topped-with-whipped-cream _, courtesy of one Matt-in-the-Hat who taught me all his godly ways!” With a dramatic flourish, America brandished a newly opened can of Reddi-whip and set to work carefully adding little swirls of cream to each stack of pancakes.

Spain took a seat beside Prussia, trying so very hard not to combust at how _ adorable _ that little display was, that he barely noticed how the thick haze of irritation and loathing swirling around Delaware practically dissipated in an instant, the state’s anger cooling as he moved forward to help his mother distribute the plates. Even England and France settled down, bickering as usual, but at a much more subdued level.

And for a blessed moment…there was peace...

“Morning, fuckers.”

_ Ah, well, there goes that. _

New York stumbled into the room, and Spain’s brows shot up incredulously as he took in the boy’s condition. This was definitely _ not _ the sleek and sophisticated—and mildly terrifying—state that he had met the other day. His pale blond hair was _ atrociously _ messy, rumpled and disheveled like he’d spent the last eight hours trying to rip it out, his stylish clothes wrinkled and crooked as if he’d been sleeping in them, his face sporting deep purple bags that told Spain that he must have been mugged for his clothes to end up like that because he had definitely _ not _ slept at all last night.

But this must have been a common occurrence because Delaware didn’t even bat an eye, scowling as New York sat down heavily and slumped forward onto the countertop. “Do you have to be so crude? There is a _ child _ present.” He gestured to the doorway, where a little bundle of blankets and black hair had slowly made its way through, tottering on clumsy legs before it stopped right beside Spain. The green-eyed nation whimpered, his heart overflowing with _ cuuuute!!! _ when he realized that it was Arizona. The little boy’s eyes were drooping with exhaustion, his body swaying dangerously in place, his hair all smushed to one side as he pulled the blanket tighter around his shoulders.

“Too late for that,” New York said snarkily, still managing to throw an obnoxious, shark-toothed smirk at his older brother despite how completely drained he looked, “I paid him twenty bucks to help me edit some super shitty reports, so he was exposed to me and my ‘_ crude _’ language alllllll night.” He glanced down, almost affectionately, as Arizona yawned. “Hmph, fuckin’ brat fell asleep halfway through, though, poor thing. I’ll have to cut his wages.” 

Delaware merely pursed his lips, rolling his eyes and muttering about child labor laws before stalking off to brew a pot of coffee, but alarm bells were going off in Spain’s mind, his hands itching to cover Arizona’s ears or at least punch New York in the face. He wisely decided to do the former, scooping his son up and into his lap, heart swelling when the boy curled into a little ball and tucked himself under Spain’s chin, not even questioning his father’s actions. 

“Oh hey,” America crooned, sliding a plate piled high with pancakes in front of Spain, “_ Buenos días, Miguelito (6)! _ ” Spain watched as the blue-eyed nation leaned over the breakfast bar to run his fingers through Arizona’s already mussed up hair, a rush of warmth flooding through his chest at how smoothly his language rolled off of America’s tongue. _ “Aw, estás muy cansado, ¿eh?” _

Arizona stirred in Spain’s lap, blinking up dazedly at his mother before giving him a sleepy smile. His voice was slurred and sleep-thickened when he responded, but Spain could still hear how perfectly his lips formed the Spanish vowels, how naturally his tongue rolled through the _ r’s _. And it filled him with a sense of gratitude, pride, and even a touch of relief, to know that America had taken the time to teach their son his beautiful language. 

Because that meant, in some small way, Spain hadn’t left them entirely alone.

The touching family moment was cut short, much to Spain’s dismay, when Delaware slid into the seat beside him, holding one cup of coffee in his hand and slamming the second one down in front of New York, the harsh sound of the ceramic mug clinking against the granite countertop jarring Spain out of his affection-induced haze. 

“Tch, what’s your problem?” New York snapped, glaring at his older brother before bringing the mug to his lips, and Spain mourned the loss of Arizona’s sweet voice chattering away in Spanish as the little boy turned to stare wide-eyed at the two blond states. “You’re acting like more of a jerk than usual.”

“Well, I wouldn’t _ have _ a problem if you would actually go to sleep at night,” Delaware replied coolly, his gaze briefly settling on the cup of coffee in New York’s hands before flitting away. The action had Spain shifting nervously in his seat, sweat-dropping as Prussia peered curiously over his shoulder to watch the scene.

“I _don’t_ sleep,” New York scoffed, arms crossing over his chest arrogantly, not wavering even when America gave him a disapproving, motherly look. “What? _I literally don’t!_ ‘City that never sleeps’ and all that crap.”

Delaware nodded, slyly glancing at his younger brother over the top of his own mug, “Yeah, I know. ‘S why you’re always such a prick in the mornings.” 

New York scowled before taking another big gulp of his coffee, his deep frown making the signs of fatigue all the more prominent, “I’m always a prick, idiot. You’re just a wimp. Not my fault your stupid...pansy ass…can’t…” New York’s words died on his tongue, his eyes rolling into the back of his head, his body collapsing onto the breakfast bar. 

Spain and the other nations looked on in mute horror. 

A few minutes later, America broke the silence with a loud groan, his hands coming to rest on his hips as he shot his oldest son an irritated glare, “I can’t believe you, Del! Did you drug him again?! (7) How many times have we talked about this? There are better ways to get him to sleep!”

“A-Again?!” England stuttered, gawking at his son with wide green eyes. Spain’s own gaze darted over to the serene looking blond-haired state, his body subconsciously scooting away from him and clutching Arizona tighter against his chest. 

“I know, I know, but at least it’ll shut him up for a few good hours,” Delaware shrugged nonchalantly, blithely sipping his apparently untainted coffee, “And now he can actually get some fucking sleep.”

America looked like he was going to argue, his nose scrunching up in frustration, but he was interrupted when New York let out a loud snore, his cheek squished against the granite surface of the breakfast bar as his arms dangled in the open space between his body and the countertop. Almost instantly, America sighed in surrender, his blue eyes softening with exasperated affection as he turned his gaze to the sleeping boy, coming around the counter to gently brush his fingers down the curve of New York’s back. 

“Honestly,” America grumbled, but the harsh edge in his tone broke off into a light giggle, “you kids are gonna be the death of me someday…” Then carefully, _ ever-so-carefully _ , he slid New York off of the barstool, hoisting the state up onto his hip and supporting him with an arm around his waist, looking for all the world like a parent cradling their sleepy toddler child. The image of New York’s long limbs wrapped around America’s slender body was completely _ ridiculous _, but America didn’t seem to mind at all, using his well-known strength to expertly balance his fully-grown son in his arms and lay him down onto the couch, hovering over him for a moment to smooth down a few wayward strands of blond hair.

There was a peculiar sense of vulnerability in the way New York’s pinched face slackened in his sleep, a subtle touch of reverence in the way America’s fingertips brushed the soft skin of his cheek, a pervading feeling of awkwardness in the way the onlookers averted their gazes, because this felt like something they weren’t supposed to see, something they were encroaching on. It was one of those tender moments, the kind that was infused with emotions so deep and vast, that Spain got lost in them whenever he tried to decipher them. 

In his distraction, Spain’s grip loosened around Arizona, and the little boy took the opportunity to wriggle out of his hold, hopping down to the ground and scurrying over to his mother and brother. He untangled himself from his blanket and bashfully—because there had always been a little part of him that was duly intimidated and in awe of his older brother, Spain knew—draped it over New York, little hands hastily pulling it down to cover the blond’s legs while America pulled it up to his chest. The nations watched in silence, their forks and knives clinking against their plates as they suffocated under the weight of the moment’s simplicity and sweetness.

Spain was just about to quietly offer to leave the room when America’s phone started buzzing in his pocket, the muffled sound of _California Gurls_ blasting through the tranquil silence (8). While America answered the call, Spain decided that he couldn’t idly sit and swing his legs anymore, wordlessly taking his plate and collecting the others’ dirty dishes, distantly registering faint _mmhmm_’s and _i see_’s and _alright_’s as he shuffled around the breakfast bar and into the kitchen.

“Well then,” America said after hanging up, clapping his hands together softly so as not to wake New York, “It looks like California, Oregon, and Hawaii will be here in a few minutes. Can you guys,” he nodded towards Prussia, England, and France, “go wake everyone up and bring them down for breakfast? I still have loads more pancakes to go around!”

Spain turned on the tap as the three men filed up the stairs, watching as the cool rush of water cut through the sticky maple syrup and pancake crumbs, his ears still pricked to hear America’s words.

“And Arizona,” the blond nation said, kneeling down to be eye-level with the boy, his hands coming to rest on his shoulders, “I need you to go outside and wait for your sisters to arrive, okay? Hawaii will be so happy if you’re there to welcome her. She’s gonna meet her papa soon, just like you met yours…” Spain could feel those eyes grazing over him, wide and bright and _ blue blue blue _, but there was something in America’s tone that didn’t seem quite right. “It’s gonna be...scary. A good kind of scary, and it’ll be better if she has her amazing big brother there with her, don’t you think?” 

Arizona, for all his boundless energy and blind enthusiasm, seemed to pick up on the slight tension in his mother’s voice, his mumble of agreement slightly subdued, though the quickness of his footsteps as he hurried out of the room betrayed his excitement. And Spain supposed the slower footsteps trailing behind him were Delaware’s, ever the dutiful elder brother.

Spain was stalling on his last plate, mechanically running the sponge back and forth and back and forth over the ceramic surface, the soap suds and cold water making the tips of his fingers pruny. And it wasn’t until another hand grabbed the edge of the plate and coaxed the soaked sponge from him that he realized America was beside him, his lips set into a ghost of a smile that bordered on pained and bittersweet, his shoulders weighed down by something immense that Spain couldn’t understand. 

He looked so different from that carefree boy Spain had kissed under the gentle spring sunlight.

“You shouldn’t be washing the dishes, dummy,” America murmured, the end of his sentence turning into a wispy laugh, “You’re a _ guest _.”

Spain shrugged, “Well, we are all going to be here for a while, so I assumed…” He didn’t finish the thought, lapsing into an uncomfortable silence, nothing but the sound of running water and their soft breaths echoing in the space between them.

“You are worried about something,” Spain blurted out, and he wondered when he had become so blunt.

“Worried? Me? Never,” America scoffed playfully, but one bump of Spain’s hip against his had him looking vaguely chastised, “How could you tell?”

“We’ve known each other for quite a while,” Spain began, green eyes focusing on the edge of America’s lips, watching as it twitched and wavered, “We’ve been very..._ close _ more than once. I’d like to think I understand you, at least on some level.”

“Do you? Understand me, I mean.”

“I would better if you told me what was wrong.”

That got him a snort and a reluctant smile, “Very smooth.” There was a pause, charged with hesitancy and indecision. “I...Do you think this was a mistake?” America gestured around them, hands waving aimlessly for a moment before flopping uselessly at his sides. “Do you think I’m being naive? Idealistic? For thinking that this can work, whatever it is? Do you…” His voice dropped into a hushed, anxious whisper. “Do you think I’m setting them up for heartbreak?”

Spain tilted his head, considering. He thought of the sticker-stars on Arizona’s ceiling, and of the shy, hopeful smile on California’s face. He thought of Delaware’s green eyes icing over with cold fury, and of Texas’s finger tucked snugly against the gun’s trigger. He thought of England’s jaw tightening so slightly almost no one could have noticed, and of Germany’s face slowly draining of color while the ink stained his fingers a deep, ocean blue. 

He thought of America laughing in the circle of his arms, and of how certain he looked when he was talking about love. 

_ If you truly loved him, that must mean he’s a good man, so he would never have forgotten! _

“Yes,” Spain said finally, “I do think it’s idealistic.” He reached out and took America’s hand, intertwining their fingers despite the cold clamminess of their skin. “But I don’t think that is a bad thing. I wish more of us were like that.” Green eyes met blue, and Spain thought, again, of how beautiful America looked framed in sunlight. “Maybe you could show me how?”

America blushed, nodding in that dreamy, far-away kind of way like he didn’t know exactly what he was agreeing to, his cowlick bobbing and swaying with the motion. “Ok…”

Spain smiled and squeezed his hand a little tighter. It wasn’t exactly what he wanted—there was none of that fierce conviction or bubbling optimism that Spain had found so endearing in a nation so young—but it would come back with time, he was sure of it. And though he could sense the uncertainty brewing deep within the blue-eyed nation, made quite clear from the way he hurriedly pulled away from Spain’s touch, it didn’t dampen his spirits.

Because America was giving him a _ chance _. 

And in the end, that was everything he wanted. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Follow me at my Tumblr: @starfirexl! Ask me questions about the fic, or just drop in to say hi, whatever you want!
> 
> (1) Ok so this date, February 22, 1819, is the day the US and Spain signed the Adams-Onís treaty, which basically gave Florida to the US. As you can probably guess based on the content of this chapter, it's also the day before Florida was uh...conceived? (I'm so awkward I'm sorry.) Also, in case you guys were a little thrown off by America's sudden seductiveness towards the end there like Spain was, it's always been my own headcannon that America comes off as oblivious and innocent (and sometimes he actually is), but not as much as people think. Like, he's a grown person, not a child, he understands love and intimacy and the more physical aspects of the two. Honestly, I don't think I pulled it off all that well, and idk why I'm explaining all of this to you, I'm gonna stop now.
> 
> (2) "Cristallo" is basically this type of material that was used to make cups and chalices back in the old days. It closely resembles rock crystal in appearance, hence why it's called CRISTALLO. This material was solely created in Italy, but it was in high demand throughout the 16th century and formed the basis of trade in Europe at the time. 
> 
> (3) This is a reference to King Charles V of Spain who became Emperor Charles I of the Holy Roman Empire. He was born into the House of Hapsburg (an extremely influential Austrian royal house) which had ruled over the HRE for centuries, but became King of Spain before he became Holy Roman Emperor. In this fic, his coronation is the reason why Spain and Austria got married. It was an arranged marriage between those two in particular because, obviously, HRE the personification was too young to get married. 
> 
> (4) Again, this is a reference to Charles V ascending the throne of the Holy Roman Empire. His coronation day was on February 22, 1530, which is the day I believe Spain and Austria fell in love. They kinda hated each other a bit before, but they gradually warmed up to each other and that night was...magical I guess (yes I know it's cheesy, let me have this). I found this little tidbit of knowledge especially interesting because the day that Spain and America fell in love was also February 22, but 289 years later in 1819. isn't it weird how the universe works?
> 
> (5) Ok I COMPLETELY screwed up travel logistics and stuff. It's a ten-hour flight to Hawaii from Virginia and ten hours back, so that's 20 hours of travel total (not including bathroom breaks, eating, resting, etc.) which California, Hawaii, and Oregon apparently completed in a single night. Ummmmm please just ignore my brief dumbassery!!! Let's just say they're nations and they work in mysterious ways, ok?
> 
> (6) In Spanish, it's common to add an -ito to the end of people's names and other words to indicate affection (or smallness). So Miguel becomes Miguelito! (Yes, I did get this from Coco). I just thought it was adorable, so I had to add it to the fic!
> 
> (7) Ok, so what I wrote here is probably scientifically impossible. I don't think you can put sleeping pills and stuff into coffee and have it be effective, and if you did, it would probably be crazy unhealthy!! SO PLEASE DONT TRY THIS AT HOME!!!! I thought it would be ok if I wrote it in since New York is a personification and they don’t really conform to rules of human health, but seriously DON'T EVER DO THIS. It was just supposed to be my (terrible) attempt at humor lol. (I'm using the "they're nations" excuse a lot, aren't I?)
> 
> (8) It’s another personal HC of mine that America has specific ringtones for all his kids (idk if you can even have 50 different ringtones but whatever) and I just thought he’d TOTALLY have California Gurls by Katie Perry as California’s ringtone haha!
> 
> Spanish Translations (courtesy of Google Translate)—
> 
> cariño = darling
> 
> Mi corazón, no sabes lo que me haces. = My heart, you don't know what you do to me.
> 
> Mi amor = my love
> 
> Dios, dame fuerzas = God give me strength
> 
> California? Estás despierta, mija? = California? Are you awake my daughter?
> 
> Dios mio = My God
> 
> Buenos días, Miguelito = Good morning, Miguel!
> 
> Aw, estás muy cansado, ¿eh? = Aw, you're really tired huh?
> 
> Extra Note: It's been brought to my attention that I've been writing bilingual characters entirely wrong, and I'm SO SORRY!! I'll try to do better I promise, but I'm not bilingual myself so....? I'LL DO MY BEST!!!

**Author's Note:**

> French:
> 
> Pouvez-vous me parler de papa, maman?* = Can you tell me about dad, mom?
> 
> Bien sûr chérie. De quoi commencer? Eh bien, ton père est gentil et sage et tout à fait charmeur. Et sa nourriture est à tomber par terre…* = Of course darling. Where to start? Well, your father is kind and wise and quite charming. And his food is to die for ... 
> 
> Spanish:
> 
> Mamá, tía México me dijo que papá la lastimó a ella y a sus hermanos. ¿Es verdad mamá? ¿Les hizo daño?* = Mom, Aunt Mexico told me that Dad hurt her and her brothers. Is it true mom? Did he hurt them? *
> 
> N-No, cariño. No creo que haya sido él, probablemente alguien más. H-Hay muchas naciones europeas después de todo… * = N-No, honey. I don't think it was him, probably someone else. T-There are many European nations after all ... *
> 
> Hawaiian:
> 
> Meli* = Honey


End file.
